


Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

by kayura_sanada



Series: These Breaths We Breathe [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, BAMF!Merlin, BAMF!arthur, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Even More Plot, Fluff, Hurt!Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, If these two are even capable of such things, M/M, Protective!Arthur, The Return of Giant Dick!Uther, Ugh Uther what even seriously, canon AU, h/c, hurt!Arthur, serious conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 58,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2629418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merthur. Merlin and Arthur acclimate to the changes between them. Uther, however, has had enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

 

Part I

 

 

Uther was out to get him.

 

Arthur had warned him, that last morning before they returned to Camelot, Gwaine a new, interesting presence by their side (the man traveled literally from tavern to tavern! Who lived like that?), that Uther had sent out Arthur's own men to get to Merlin. He couldn't believe it. Only their loyalty to Arthur stayed their hands. Not in time to save one of them, but in time to save the rest, and to spare Arthur's heart more pain.

And somewhere during Merlin and Arthur returning to Camelot and Merlin being put on bed rest with the excuse of having been injured “by certain parties,” Arthur had said in his clipped report to Uther, who had grimaced in a way that showed off more anger than shame, everyone in Camelot became aware of a change in relationship between Merlin and Arthur.

Suddenly everyone was asking him to bring up their problems to the prince, “since he had his ear.” Merlin didn't, of course; Arthur was busy enough. But what he could do to help, he did, running around grabbing medicine for one woman's ailing niece and helping another man find lodging in the now-abandoned smithy. Forrest had, rather unsurprisingly, been put to death. Merlin was only thankful that only half the reason had been because of the man's magic, and the other half had been because he'd consorted to kill Arthur and Uther.

But while his popularity had inexplicably shot up in the town, it had plummeted in the castle. The guards looked on him with such suspicion that it was obvious they knew, though Arthur assured him they had no evidence, and he'd worked to dispel the 'rumors' of Merlin's magic. Merlin had nodded and smiled and, a couple of days later, told Arthur that he'd been right, that the guards were leaving him alone. It had been a gross lie, but it had made Arthur feel slightly better, and there wasn't anything the prince could do, anyway.

It had only been a matter of time, after all, Merlin reasoned. And apparently their fights the first couple of weeks had been, in Uther's eyes, Arthur's attempt to break free from Merlin's hold. Perhaps that was why Uther had sent Arthur's knights out – to help. But it had failed, and now Merlin supposedly had Arthur under his control again, and Uther meant to save his son. It was well enough, Merlin supposed. At least Uther wanted to protect Arthur. But it meant the king had no more reason to hide Merlin's secret. Not now that he was actively trying to get rid of him.

And he was. It wasn't just with Gaius anymore, though Gaius kept Merlin appraised now of every time the king went to him. Sometimes it was rants, other times dire warnings to not be in league with Merlin. And sometimes, rarely, it was plans. Uther would consider how best to get rid of Merlin. He had promised his son to not hurt Merlin, apparently, but Uther had found loopholes to that plan. He could have others kill Merlin, or hint at a reward if someone did it. He could send Merlin into dangerous situations, or simply send out a bounty for Merlin's head and wait for Arthur to go on another patrol. He could have Merlin taken somewhere far away, into another kingdom – but that would have to be a controlled situation, Gaius repeated, because if it didn't work, then Uther wanted a way to get his hands back on Merlin. Just in case Arthur still showed signs of being enchanted.

Merlin didn't go anywhere anymore without Gwaine next to him.

It wasn't a chore, however. Gwaine was labeled a servant, but it was for convenience's sake only. Arthur called him a spy. Merlin had no idea what Uther called him. Possibly 'aggravation,' 'meddler,' or something far less politic. In any case, Gwaine was with him whenever he stepped out of the castle, whenever he had to run to grab herbs for Gaius, whenever a group of guards glared at him a little too hard. And Gwaine did it all with a grin, one that, when Merlin pointed out how nearly bloodthirsty it was, Gwaine himself labeled 'shit-eating.' Merlin didn't know if that was Gwaine insulting himself or insulting those he had to deal with, but it was just the right level of rude and daredevil that seemed to suit the look, and Merlin had adopted the phrase without qualm.

Gwaine had a million stories, each and every one revolving around his exploits in one bar or another. But listening to him ramble on about them made their enterprises together companionable instead of oppressing. During one moment, after having scared off three guards far bulkier than he, Gwaine admitted to being of noble birth.

“You could be a knight, then!” Merlin said, and Gwaine rolled his eyes.

“As if I could be knight to that brat of a man your country calls king,” Gwaine said, nodding in the general direction of the throne room. Even though the hall was completely desolate after Gwaine's show of force, Merlin still cast a fearful gaze about the place, just in case someone came slithering out to point at them and yell, 'treason!'

When it didn't happen, Merlin turned back to Gwaine. “But wouldn't you like to be a knight? You'd be under Arthur's command. You don't seem to mind him.”

“The princess is different than most nobles, yeah. Maybe that's because of you.” And Gwaine waggled his eyebrows. Merlin blushed horribly, as he always did when Gwaine made those kinds of jokes, and Gwaine burst out laughing, as usual. Merlin didn't have the heart to tell him that, though he and Arthur had spoken of his magic a bit more – a tiny bit more; Arthur had been kept busy by Uther, and Arthur continually said he wanted the time to hear everything properly. Whatever that meant. But though they'd apparently gotten the absolute worst of it behind them, still Arthur had not invited Merlin into his bed again. Merlin feared he never would.

Gwaine finally stopped mocking Merlin and shrugged. “But in the end, even if I were under Arthur's command, I'd still be under Uther's first and foremost, wouldn't I? Those knights had to walk a thin line to keep themselves from getting killed, all because they had to follow Arthur and Uther both. No, thanks.”

Merlin couldn't argue with that.

“So where are you headed?” Gwaine asked, and they both fell into easy step with each other down the corridors, long used to sharing space with one another by now.

“I have to get Arthur's sword and armor for the practice field.”

Gwaine groaned. Not because he had to practice, even though he did. Not because it was a study in frustration, as Arthur grilled his men to the bone in aggravation because even though Merlin said it was getting better, it was obvious every time Arthur saw his men near Merlin that at least half of them still looked on him with suspicion and disdain.

It was because, to get Arthur's weapon and armor, he had to go into the armory. And if there were any guards in there – any at all – Merlin inevitably found himself dodging falling weapons or suddenly precarious piles of armor. A couple of guards, at the beginning, hadn't been afraid to get into his face, warning him, shoving him around until he'd had a pike pushing into his lower back. Gwaine had come to his rescue, of course, but the danger of the room hadn't diminished even a bit since.

Gwaine snarled off the two knights waiting to meet with Merlin in the room, obviously loitering before going out to the practice field. Merlin dodged carefully before they could 'accidentally' bump into him on their way out.

The room only had one other – Kay. The man watched Merlin closely, but not with nearly the amount of hate and unease the others possessed. Merlin felt safe enough to walk forward, and took a single step of space between himself and Gwaine before proceeding to Arthur's stash.

Kay's armor clinked slightly as he pulled it tight and tied it off. Kay's squire was sick, and the man had chosen to do his own work. Merlin hesitated. Bit his lip. Then he walked over to Kay. “Here. Let me.”

Gwaine sighed.

Kay gave him another look, but he nodded and held out his hands. Merlin checked the man's vambrace, tightening it when he found it loose, then moved up from Kay's forearm to his elbow, checking the couter. It was slightly odd, finding the arm beneath a bit fuller and bulkier than he was used to – Arthur was all muscle, but somehow it remained whipcord lean no matter how much Arthur worked out.

He fetched Kay's pauldron from where it sat on the bench beside him and tugged it onto his shoulder. Then came the breastplate, and both Merlin and Kay were painfully tense throughout the process of leaning in and pulling the breastplate around Kay's neck. Merlin didn't breathe again until the plate was in place and he could lean away again to tie it tight.

“About Arthur.”

Merlin stilled. None of the knights had spoken to him since he'd returned, if not to mumble threats or warnings. And now, the first one to speak to him without violence was the one Arthur had talked down from trying to hurt him and drag him off, and the topic, of all topics, he'd chosen to discuss was Arthur.

Merlin leaned away, smoothing the ties so that they couldn't be cut, testing the metal links to ensure they would hold. Every move was instinct, as natural as breathing; he never let Arthur enter a battlefield with poorly prepared equipment. “What about him?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He could see Gwaine, out of the corner of his eye, watching them like a hawk.

“We accepted you because your loyalty to Arthur was never before in question,” Kay said. Merlin blinked, not entirely sure that he should be flattered or concerned about the inherent 'but.' “And now we find that your loyalty perhaps should have been questioned from the start.”

Merlin gave him a wide-eyed stare, not sure how he should respond and caught between making a tactical retreat and trying to reason with the man. But if this one, the one Arthur himself had spoken to, couldn't understand, then what hope could Merlin, the supposed sorcerer (and wasn't it just a kick that he was actively pretending he _wasn't_ a sorcerer when he _was_ ), have to convince the man that he would sooner cut his own throat than harm Arthur?

Then Kay slapped him on the shoulder. Merlin's knees buckled. “Don't worry,” Kay said. Merlin froze again. “Right now, they're wondering if they were wrong about you, the way I did. They will see your loyalty again. Have no doubt.”

Merlin nodded dumbly. Kay seemed to accept Merlin's wordless response, because the man grabbed his sword, twisted his arm back and forth. “Thank you for your help,” Kay said, lifting his arm to indicate the armor, and then walked forward to exit to the field. He turned back. “You might want to hurry up, though, or you'll make Arthur late.”

Merlin jumped. “Oh!” He twisted on his foot to race back toward Arthur's armor. “Crap!”

He heard Gwaine join Kay in chuckling as he snatched up gauntlet and vambrace and pauldron. Traitor.

* * *

Arthur was beautiful when he fought.

Merlin would never tell the man this, because not only was he ridiculously vain enough, but he didn't need another reason to show off his immensely impressive fighting skills. And let it never be said that Merlin fed that ridiculous ego or contributed in any small way to the suffering of Arthur's men.

Besides, Arthur liked battle enough without being told he looked absolutely magnificent with his sword cleaving through enemy forces.

The field's grass had been trampled so much in the past weeks Merlin wondered at its resilience to grow. He himself sat safely on the bench, not allowed to leave the practice field while Gwaine battled against Arthur. The fight between the two of them was the highlight of the entire session, and Merlin watched with the rest of them as Arthur dodged a strong downward swipe and danced around Gwaine's side, sweeping his sword out from his side. Gwaine had to hop away.

They stared each other down for a time, giving Merlin a chance to take in the sweat that beaded on Arthur's upper lip and the back of his neck. Merlin trailed one drop with his gaze as it fell to his chainmail. Merlin would hate the amount of clothing on Arthur if it didn't make him look like some sort of druid god of war.

He caught Jence and another new knight – Pern, he remembered – glaring at him. For some reason, it made him drop his gaze from Arthur and back to the ground. While Kay had given him some hope, there really wasn't much else to take solace in. He still faced accosting – or worse – wherever he went in the castle; the other servants had caught on to the guards' distrust – as if that was hard – and had started avoiding him. It was painful enough, since several of them he'd considered friends, but it also meant that he was out of the loop gossip-wise, which could only harm Arthur.

Honestly, he was starting to feel like he was failing his destiny, like he'd started failing destiny the moment he'd slipped into bed with Arthur. Now, he was putting a wall between Arthur and his men, was giving him nothing but trouble in his own castle by way of tensions with his father and the guards, and now he couldn't even remain apprised of any situations cropping up in Camelot.

And worse, in the worst way possible, everyone knew about his magic.

Well, maybe not everyone. Just the guards, he thought. He touched Arthur's shield, sitting beside him as Arthur forwent the thing for speed. Gwaine nearly got a hit on him, but Arthur did an impressive duck and roll that got him behind Gwaine, and Gwaine had to outright retreat for a second to keep Arthur from getting a 'killing' blow.

The servants didn't seem to quite know why the guards were after Merlin, but they seemed to have come to the agreement that something Very Bad had happened while Arthur and Merlin had been gone. Which wasn't exactly incorrect, even though they had no idea what that something had been. Neither did Merlin, really. He didn't remember anything of the journey. A part of him was still amazed that Arthur had actually gone out to save him. The other part hoped.

Finally Arthur managed to chase Gwaine down, going for odd attacks from side to side, pushing against Gwaine's unnatural strength and taking him through speed, finally getting him on his back and putting his sword to Gwaine's neck. Both men were panting loudly, chests heaving. And both had identical maniacal grins on their faces; Gwaine's in challenge, Arthur's in hard-won victory.

Finally, Arthur pulled his sword away and helped Gwaine up. “Now,” Arthur said, turning from Gwaine in a snubbing dismissal, the only thing he could do to keep his men from revolting against Arthur training with a commoner, leaving Gwaine to shake himself off and move toward Merlin, “let's see if you lot can do half so well.”

Each man scowled at the even bigger snub. Merlin had to cover his mouth to keep from snickering too loudly. He didn't need any more reason for the knights to hate him.

Gwaine was sweaty and smelly and slightly gross, dirt sticking on his clothes, but he collapsed onto the bench beside Merlin, that grin still going strong, and he clapped Merlin on the back a little harder than was comfortable. “Ah, Merlin! You got yourself a strong one, don't you?” Thence came the newest round of blushing and laughing, until Gwaine shook his head and stood. “Come on, let's get you out of here before those guys learn how to attack with their glares alone.”

Merlin almost didn't hear him; he was too busy catching a glimpse of Arthur kicking one of his men into the dirt despite the workout he'd just had with Gwaine, and his hair was momentarily haloed by the sun. Like a god of victory, he looked down as his knight stumbled to his feet to try again; like a warrior angel, he pulled his lips back into a snarl – Arthur may have caught this particular knight leaning over Merlin in a threatening pose the afternoon before – and struck hard against the man's shoulder, making him drop his sword, before he shoved the man straight back onto the ground.

“Or you can stay here and ogle your man,” Gwaine said, and Merlin jumped. He turned to see that grin of his had been replaced by a smirk. Merlin blushed again.

“But Arthur's shield,” he said, a pathetic excuse that just made Gwaine shake his head at him.

“I think it can survive on its own for an hour or two while you get some much-deserved rest.”

Rest? Merlin scoffed. He never got rest. When he wasn't running everywhere for Arthur, as usual, he was helping Gaius out, since the poor old man was more often than not being held up by Uther's rants and demands for help planning Merlin's exile-slash-death. If he wasn't doing that, then he was dodging glares and shoves and trying to glean information from people no longer willing to speak with him. And if there wasn't that, then there were the small, short snatches of conversations with Gwen that amounted to, 'how could you not tell me?' and 'I'm happy for you, Merlin, really, I am; you and Arthur are good for each other,' and, 'I'm sorry I thought you were – well, I heard what happened with the blacksmith, and I'm so sorry I didn't stay,' and variations of this theme.

She didn't hate him, but it was obviously hard for her to be near him or Arthur at the moment. It was more than Merlin had hoped for, though it shouldn't have been a surprise. Gwen was a saint. And Merlin was sure Arthur had spoken with her; not just because Arthur never would allow something like this to go unanswered, but because one day he'd found Gwen, hiding in Morgana's room, looking out the window with tears sparkling in the sunlight, a frown on her lips. But when he'd asked Arthur about it, he'd said only, “It's my fault,” and he didn't speak on it any further.

But Gwaine had mentioned the magical word _rest_ , and even if there was no way he would actually get any, the siren song of the possibility finally lured Merlin from the practice field.

It took them five steps inside the castle before they were stopped by a harried looking servant rushing past, then another, saying, “stop! The other way!” and Merlin remembered they were receiving guests. Merlin sighed and turned to go to Arthur's chambers. Gwaine frowned at him, but Merlin just waved his hand and gave the man a smile only a little more tired than usual. “A servant's work is never done.”

He needed to make sure Arthur's clothes were pressed and ready, his boots shined, his bath drawn up. The very idea of it made his nerves sing; he wanted to use magic to hurry the process, but was more afraid than ever of what would happen if someone actually  _saw_ him using the magic he was accused of having. He was under no illusions that the only reason he lived was because Uther thought he might keep Arthur under his spell even after death. Any hint of news otherwise, and Merlin was as good as dead.

He felt like he'd been playing along the edge of a cliff, walking along the line between rock and air, and had just found that the footing he'd thought was stable was actually loose rocks breaking apart beneath his feet.

* * *

It was even busier when the guests came, and the only times Merlin saw Arthur were in the morning when he took his breakfast up and woke him, in the evenings when he prepared Arthur for bed, and during the banquets and festivals, during which Merlin was kept either so busy helping the other servants he nearly tripped over his feet – twice – or so bored standing behind Arthur he nearly fell asleep where he stood.

When it was all over, Gaius gave him a pity's day off and reported a slight ailment making the rounds in the city as an excuse to get out of Uther's constant plans and rants. Uther was a horrible man in some ways, but he truly did love his people. He left Gaius alone to take care of them, and Gaius, now with the time to get done the things he needed to get done, let Merlin catch a few winks of rest in between his usual duties.

It had been a few days after the guests finally left that Arthur called Merlin into his room with the tone of voice that said they were going to be left alone, by god, or Arthur would have someone's head. A ball of weight settled in Merlin's gut as he stepped into Arthur's bedroom.

It was midday, and Arthur, for once, apparently had absolutely nothing on his plate. It was nearly unheard of. But instead of calling for an impromptu hunt or something else, he instead locked his door behind Merlin and ushered him to the table. The ball in Merlin's gut grew until it caught in his chest, big enough to make it difficult to breathe. Arthur pointed to a seat already pulled out, and as Merlin sat, the prince moved to the windows and closed them, until even the few slivers of light that slipped through were muted. The desk Arthur worked at was as empty as it ever got, which was to say that a few papers still sat to be looked through.

Finally, Arthur seemed to decide they were safe enough, and he sat in the chair across from Merlin. The ball inside him was now so large he couldn't swallow. “We won't be disturbed for the rest of the day,” Arthur said, and the idea of having the whole day – that Arthur had specifically called out so much time just for this – made the ball turn acidic. It ate away at his stomach.

“Oh.” He wondered if he should try to find some excuse to leave.

Arthur frowned and put both hands on the table, palms down, as he would when conducting some battle strategy. “You're not going anywhere. I have questions.” Merlin's eyes were like a deer's when it catches sight of the crossbow aimed at it. “And not like that,  _Mer_ lin.” Arthur sighed and rubbed his temple. “I'm not going to string you up and bleed the answers from you.”

Merlin only calmed slightly at that, because he honestly hadn't thought Arthur would. But the idea of the possibility gave a new tension to his shoulders.

Arthur sighed again and leaned forward. “You told me a few things I've never been told before about magic.” Arthur's face scrunched a bit, as if admitting he had less information than Merlin was nearly a capital crime. “You said you were born with it. That you didn't choose it?”

Merlin nodded slowly, as if Arthur was moving him into a trap. “My mother said I was making objects move before I could crawl.”

Arthur choked out a short laugh. “That early?”

Merlin nodded again, this time even slower. “She said I made my toys move. Made my bed float. I would make my toys fly to their homes instead of putting them away myself.” Arthur actually chuckled at that one, and his eyes widened as if he couldn't believe the sound had come out. It made Merlin grin. “She said I was a horrible troublemaker, that I always made her worry that...” His voice dropped. “That I'd be caught.”

Arthur stopped chuckling then.

“She's the one who taught me to always keep it hidden. Keep it secret. I had to. The other villagers started knowing something was up – they would watch me out of the corner of their eyes. And then there was Will–”

“Another sorcerer,” Arthur said, and Merlin flinched. Arthur waited a beat. “It was you.”

Merlin ducked his head down, that acidic ball destroying his insides.

“That's what you were trying to tell me.” Merlin flinched again, and he heard something in Arthur's next exhalation that said he was getting pissed. “Why did you let him lie to me?”

Merlin shivered. “Because I needed to stay by your side. I needed to make sure you were safe. I... I wanted to tell you. I thought I had to, but...”

“Had to is not wanted to, Merlin.”

He didn't look up from the grains in the wooden table. “I know,” he said, slumping in misery. “Will took it on himself for my sake. Maybe he already knew – Will was dumb, and brass, but he always knew me. We grew up together; he was my only friend. The only one who'd found out about my magic. So maybe he knew I couldn't... I wanted to stay with you. So he took it out of my hands. Protected me.”

“Protected you from _me_.”

Merlin flinched again, and slumped so far in his seat he nearly slid underneath the table. “From you leaving me behind.”

Arthur was silent then, and Merlin chanced a peek over the rim of the table to see how he was taking this. Arthur looked like he was chewing on something fatty and trying to force himself to swallow. “Back up and explain how Will 'found out.'”

Merlin cleared his throat, but the ball of weight didn't go away. So he said, “Will saw me playing in the woods. It's – I would do it sometimes, when I thought no one was around. My mother would yell at me if she caught me, tell me to keep it bottled up, but... I couldn't. So I would go outside sometimes, make the leaves on the ground swirl, or lift up logs and rocks. I would go to the river and make the water dance. Will caught me.” He looked down. “He freaked, at first, went on and on about how I was actually a monster come to eat him.” Arthur snorted, a bit, but Merlin shivered. Because right now, that's how everyone in the castle was treating him. “But I... I showed him my magic, and he became less afraid. Or maybe it helped that I was crying.” Merlin shrugged.

“You're such a girl, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, but it was little more than a whisper.

“He forgave me,” Merlin said, and the words felt odd on his tongue. He didn't know why until Arthur spoke.

“'Forgave you'? For being who you are?”

Merlin shivered. “I'm trying to get forgiveness from you,” he whispered.

Arthur scraped back his chair, stormed over to Merlin's side of the table. “Get up,” he said suddenly. Merlin blinked up at him. “ _Up,_ ” he said again, and Merlin did as bade. Arthur's hands snatched his arms, and like chains, they dragged him over toward Arthur's bed. Merlin's eyes nearly popped out of their skull. “That isn't working,” Arthur said. Merlin had no earthly idea what he could be talking about. Arthur pushed Merlin down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, nearly swallowed by the downy comfiness that was princely sleeping arrangements. Arthur leaned above him and captured Merlin's lips with his. It was not a slow, teasing kiss, nor a steady one of promise, but a quick, almost angry mess, in which Arthur seemed to be trying to remind him of some sort of brand, or ownership. Then Arthur stood back up. “I said it before, didn't I? Back when I first dragged you from that tomb. I don't care about your magic, Merlin. Well, perhaps I did,” he said, and his tone turned slightly chagrined. “But the lies. That's what I hated. How you lied to me.”

Merlin just looked up at him, not fully comprehending. “I'm so...” He stopped, remembering Arthur didn't want to hear anymore apologies from him. This time, it was Arthur who flinched.

Arthur put his hand up, almost like he was warding off any more words from Merlin. “Let's start over. I won't say I'm not... yet completely amenable,” he said, apparently searching for words, “to your magic. I have my own problems there to work through. And I don't feel like walking down that old path of accusations. You lied to me. You wanted to protect me and yourself.” Arthur's lips pulled a bit at that one, and it was obvious he was putting in a strong effort to stop himself from following that statement's path into the old argument phase. “You risked your life for me. For all intents and purposes, you've  _given_ your life to me. Your magic is mine, you said.” Arthur paused then, and stared at Merlin until finally he nodded, silently agreeing. Yes, his magic was Arthur's. “But it's a part of you. You were born with it.” Another nod. “In other words, it  _is_ you.”

This time when Merlin nodded, he could at least see where Arthur was going.

“Even when we were fighting – when _I_ was fighting,” he said, because there was never a time when Arthur didn't own up to his failings, even when the self-recrimination was undeserved, “you still acted in my best interest, not in yours. So do not doubt that I recognize this, and that I know I've been in the wrong.”

Merlin frowned. “But you're right. I lied to you. I kept it a secret, even when...” Merlin's voice bubbled out, “even when we...” He blushed and ducked his head. “I should've said something.”

The silence between them could strip the air from the room. It lasted so long Merlin thought he might try to find a way to use his magic to slip through the stones of the floor and escape to the room beneath.

Arthur finally sat on the bed beside him, sighing loudly enough to make the walls shake. “We've both made mistakes,” he said. The words made Merlin look up. Despite the tension, he couldn't help the calm that came over him at Arthur's nearness. “Right now, we need to move forward. We can't go back and change the past. We don't even know if doing so would make it better. If you'd told me before we got together, would I have accepted it? If you'd rejected me until I'd found out, would my bitterness at the rejection color my reaction to your magic?”

Merlin blinked. He hadn't thought about either of those. He'd merely known things had gone horribly wrong here, between them like this. But Arthur, the strategist that he could be, obviously had. He'd followed those trails down to their conclusions, as far as he could see. And he was right; perhaps, no matter what, they would have arrived at this point – tense, changed, pulled apart by Merlin's magic. “Can... can we be salvaged?” Merlin asked, his voice barely a breath, his entire body frozen.

But Arthur cut straight through it. “So long as we're alive, we have hope.”

Merlin caught the look in Arthur's eyes then, the softened plains of clear blue sky, and found himself attempting a smile. As long as they were alive, they had a chance to make it right. “I swear,” he said, “I will never betray you, Arthur. I would rather take my own life.”

Arthur curled one hand against Merlin's cheek. “I know.”

They sat in silence again, for a time. It stretched, not like a rubber band now, but like a well-stretched muscle, the pain of it nearly pleasurable. Merlin bounced once where he sat. Rolled his shoulders. It was an effort not to just lean on Arthur and sleep. Or just lean back and sleep. Arthur had the nicest bed in the world.

“If you've had it all your life,” Arthur said, his voice little more than a murmur, as if Arthur felt the exact same strum of silence within, “why did you come to Camelot?”

Merlin shrugged. “Ealdor wasn't a haven for me anymore. It was dangerous. People were suspicious of me, and my mother wanted to protect me.” Arthur made an almost strangled sound, and Merlin grinned. “Yeah, I know. Protect me by sending me to Camelot? But Camelot had Gaius. My mother knew him from way back when, and she thought he might be able to help me. Give me a place to stay, give me a purpose. Maybe help me with my magic. I don't know if that was part of her plan, but... Gaius...” Merlin hesitated, not knowing if he should be giving away such secrets. Then, “Gaius helped.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “When the Witchfinder came...” Arthur trailed off all over again, and one of his hands came and squeezed tight around Merlin's wrist. “My father told me Gaius had magic. Practiced it once, but didn't anymore.” Arthur turned to him, and Merlin feared Arthur would ask him to divulge Gaius' secrets, and even for Arthur Merlin didn't know if he could betray Gaius like that, but the look on Arthur's face didn't quite match. “He almost found you,” Arthur said.

Merlin was stuck on Gaius, so it took him a minute to realize Arthur was talking about Aredian. “Yeah,” he said. The hand around his wrist tightened until Merlin winced. Even then, it released him only slightly, those fingers iron bands around him. “I'd messed up. It was all my fault. I was playing again – I shouldn't have, I know better–”

“You...! _You were almost killed!”_

The rage in Arthur made Merlin tense again. Arthur stood, shoved a hand through his hair, and started to pace. “You idiot, Merlin! What were you thinking?!”

Merlin could not believe he was being reamed out over this after so long. “Gaius already lectured me.”

“Apparently not well enough!”

“Well, he certainly didn't throw me in the stocks,” Merlin said, and Arthur rounded on him.

“I've half of a mind to! Dammit, Merlin! In Camelot, no less! Do you even have a brain in that ridiculous head of yours?”

Merlin didn't know whether to be insulted or pleased. “Are you... defending me?”

Arthur looked like he just might wrap his hands around Merlin's throat. “You brought the Witchfinder to Camelot just so you could play rainmaker in the woods?”

“It was smoke,” Merlin said, and for a moment he actually thought Arthur would grab his neckerchief and choke him. “It was stupid, I know! I haven't done it since. I almost got Gaius killed.”

He hated how his voice wobbled, but at least it got Arthur calm again. He stopped pacing and returned to Merlin. “You need to be more careful! Playing with smoke, using magic in the streets!”

“Why?” Merlin asked. “Uther knows now. His guards know now. If the people find out, so what? The worst has already happened.”

“Not yet,” Arthur said, and his tone made it clear that the worst – Merlin's death, he realized – would not be allowed to happen. He scrubbed his face. “Gods. Go on.” He waved a hand. “This can't be the worst of it. You came to Camelot, decided somehow that your 'fate' was to protect me.”

“There's a prophecy.” Arthur cast him a dubious look from above the tips of his fingers. “I know; I thought it was ridiculous, too, at first. But...” He took a deep breath. “The druids seem to believe it. They... they call me Emrys.”

Arthur made a startled noise.

“And they call you the Once and Future King.” Another startled noise. Merlin cocked an eyebrow and sat back, nearly falling into the plush pillows. “You've heard it before.”

Arthur's hands dropped. “The woman.” Arthur waved a hand around. “The goddess. Nemau...”

“Nemausicae,” Merlin supplied helpfully. It earned him a half-hearted glare.

“Nemausicae,” Arthur said. “She called you that, and me... she kept calling me 'king.' The Once and Future King.”

Merlin smiled. Arthur almost seemed entranced by it. “That's because that's who you are. I've said it before. You're to be the greatest king who's ever lived.”

Arthur stared at Merlin for a long time then. Merlin couldn't tell if his eyes were widening or his mouth firming or, just maybe, Arthur was moving his balance to the balls of his feet as if making to run. It took him a while to calm his features, and when he did, he finally sat down. “And when you heard that, you thought you should protect me?”

Thankfully, Arthur already seemed to have dismissed the idea, but Merlin was still quick to say, “actually, I thought someone had made a mistake. You were too much of a prat.”

Arthur chuckled. It sent a shiver through him. Merlin wondered if it would be better or worse if he tried to touch him. He didn't know if Arthur wanted to maintain a sort of distance from him in order to swallow all the information Merlin was giving him. They hadn't gone far enough back into their relationship for him to feel comfortable breaking the distance without some sign from Arthur that it would be all right to do so. “And now?” Arthur asked.

“You're still a prat,” Merlin said, not even having to contemplate the answer. “Sometimes too much of one.” Arthur gave him that look that said if he were anyone else, he'd be walking on thin ice. “Sometimes way too much of one.”

That look disappeared at the twitch of a lip. “Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin positively beamed. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur started pacing again, but the steps were slow. He covered his mouth with one hand. “So you heard the prophecy, and my father admitted you as my servant.”

“I was wholly against it at the time,” Merlin said. “I still thought you were a prat. I thought that way until you accepted my story about Valiant.”

This time when Arthur gave him a look, it was almost the same one he made just before kissing Merlin. It made everything in him heat up. “Why did you come to me?”

Merlin finally gave up and lay back on the plush blankets and soft bed. Sitting up had been starting to hurt his back, anyway. “I don't know. Instinct? I just thought you should know. It was your life, after all.”

So comfortable! He'd never spent a night in Arthur's bed, since they'd had to keep anything they did together secret. Did they still have to do that? Weak as he'd been when he'd first been healed by the goddess, he still couldn't help but hear Arthur call Merlin his consort.  _Consort_ . Spouse in all but deed. It was insane. Arthur had practically declared war on which the very foundations his country had been founded – tradition. Expectation.  _Marriage_ . Offspring. Arthur had allowed something – affection, Merlin hoped – to cloud his judgment when it came to Merlin. He wanted to fight against it; to tell Arthur he needed to go and take it back. But he could never make himself. He thought he should, for Arthur's sake. For Camelot's sake. But he couldn't.

He bit his lip. Maybe he should bring it up? He couldn't leave; it wasn't just that he didn't want to, it was that he  _couldn't_ . If it hadn't been for Gwaine, Arthur might have met his end in a tavern, of all places, chasing after a cure for Merlin.

“What are you thinking?”

The question was asked like Merlin might have been considering just how to torture Arthur. He'd heard it once or twice before, when Merlin had a couple scathing retorts in mind and was deciding whether the next few hours in the stocks would be worth it. Now, he just sighed. “Uther would never accept me as your shadow lover now, let alone your consort.”

Arthur sighed, and Merlin watched from his position on the bed as Arthur scrubbed his face up and down with one hand. “He doesn't have to accept it. It is what it is. I can't get married to you, not officially. We're two men. But as far as it goes – and as I'm the prince, it can go to the furthest reaches of this kingdom – we are wed.”

Something warm, fluffy, and constricting gathered in his chest. “But we can't be. We knew it from the start – it was just–”

“ _We_ knew nothing, _Mer_ lin. I never would have taken you to my bed if I'd been thinking short term.”

Merlin's gut sank through the bed. His heart leaped over the castle turrets. “What?”

“Why do you think I was so _angry?_ So betrayed? Why do you think I let you get away with far more than anyone else?”

“Because I'm a great manservant?” he asked, his mouth nearly working on autopilot as the rest of him looked over those months together and realized Arthur had never mentioned, not once, a time limit. In fact, every time Merlin had brought it up, Arthur had ordered him to shut up. The revelation blew all thought from his mind.

Arthur snorted at his rejoinder. “Hardly.” If Merlin hadn't been on cloud nine, he might have taken some offense to that. “But it brings with it issues, Merlin.” Arthur scrubbed his face again. One patch of hair stuck up from his forehead. Merlin's fingers itched to pull it down. “I hadn't thought it through. Not completely. My head was on how to protect you from the implications of you having magic–”

“Ridiculous implications,” Merlin said, managed a smile at the insanity of the entire thing.

Arthur was not so impressed. He glared at him. “But it means everyone is going to have their eyes on you. Jence can't hold down a secret to save his life. Just as the guards may have learned of the chance of you having magic from him, they and the rest of Camelot have most assuredly learned of your relationship with me by now.”

Merlin made a small sound in the back of his throat. “Ah! That explains it.”

“Explains what?” The dark tone in Arthur's voice could not be mistaken. It sent a shiver running up Merlin's spine, and a small smile played on his lips. Arthur really was getting defensive. He wondered what had changed during the journey to the holy altar to make Arthur go from international prick to overprotective lover. _Husband._

“The villagers. They've been after me ever since we got back, trying to get me to talk to you about their problems.”

Arthur hissed. “Why haven't you spoken to me about this?”

“Uh, because you've been busy?” Arthur made another familiar noise, this time of exasperation. “What?” One glare, and Merlin said, “oh, you meant about them bothering me.”

“Really, Merlin? How in the world have you managed to get dressed every morning on your own?”

“It's more than you can do, sire,” he said, and got to watch Arthur scowl. Merlin grinned cheekily. “It really wasn't that big a deal. I thought they'd all just bombarded me because I'm your servant, and you've shown, if nothing else, a willingness to keep me around. I figured they were just trying to get your ear through me.”

Arthur sighed. “And?”

Merlin frowned over to him. Arthur made his way to his desk and sat in the chair, but he turned to sit sideways and ignored the few papers on his desk. “What have they asked of you?”

“Of me? Nothing, really. It isn't really anything big, or I would have brought it to you, I swear. Most of it's just been little things. 'I need a place to stay,' 'my niece's sick,' 'my daughter's looking for work.' The usual. I just send them where I can.”

Arthur's face contorted slightly. “You do what?”

Merlin waved a hand. “The woman with a sick niece, I went to Gaius and we managed to figure out what she needed. The man who needed a place to rest was easily put up in the smithy. The daughter needing work found a small job at the tailor's. None of it was anything big; I could handle it myself while you dealt with bigger issues.”

The look Arthur gave him then was one he'd never seen before. It made the constriction that had been ruining the warm fuzzy ball in his chest disappear. “Merlin, you do know that what you did – it's what the prince's consort would do.” At Merlin's furrowed brows, Arthur said, his voice quiet, “you helped my people. Gave of your own time. Worked to make them happy. It is what a consort would do.”

Merlin blushed. “It wasn't anything,” he said. “It's not anything new, really. I've helped people before, for Gaius or whatever. And it wasn't that much time or anything.”

But that look didn't dissipate, not even a little bit, and Merlin felt the warmth grow until it curled his toes. “But if the villagers know, Merlin, it means others do, too. If my father hasn't heard the rumor, then it won't be long before he does. And if our enemies learn...” Something dark chased over that gorgeous face. “If they learn, then you'll become a target. An easy one, because you will not be protected. Because I can't protect you yet.”

Merlin smiled. “Don't worry, Arthur. I'm not nearly as defenseless as I seem.”

“You're not invincible, either.” Arthur's words were a lash, but they seemed to cut himself more than Merlin. He took a deep breath to recover. “That's why it's imperative I find out more about you. Your past. What you can do. How I can protect you – how you can protect yourself. And the first order of business there is to stop doing stupid, reckless things like running out after a blacksmith on your own in the middle of the day!”

Merlin, with every ounce of magnanimity, decided to leave out the reminder of having gone to Arthur to keep from doing precisely that.

“You say your magic acts on its own to protect you. Is that all the time?”

It took Merlin a minute to keep up with the change of topic. He yawned. “I don't know. I don't think so. If it did, it would have protected me from the poison, right? Or, well, maybe, since the poison had been enhanced magically.”

“It had?”

Merlin waved away the question before it could pull them off-topic again. “I don't know. All my life-threatening encounters have been since meeting you.” He grinned over at Arthur, but the prince did not share his amusement. “I don't regret it, you know. Meeting you. Not for a second.”

And finally Arthur crumpled. It was like seeing a bunch of strings cut all at once; the weight just fell, all in that one instant. “Merlin.” Arthur got up, every line of his body edged with something Merlin couldn't name, and said again, “Merlin. You idiot.”

He had no idea why what he'd said made him deserve that insult, but any chance of reciprocating was lost when Arthur leaned over him on the bed, planting one forearm on either side of Merlin's head. Merlin's mouth went stone dry in the time it took for him to blink. He wondered if Arthur was going to kiss him. He'd done that, a few times, since they'd returned to Camelot. That and nothing else. But Merlin wouldn't mind even that much. It was more than they'd had when they'd been fighting.

Arthur smirked, catching Merlin's gaze on his mouth. The man truly was an insufferable clotpole. “I know the guards, the knights, are all giving you a hard time. I know you're trying to keep the worst from me in order to make me feel batter – which has the opposite effect, by the way; you should know very well I can't plan effectively when a man's withholding information. Thankfully, Gwaine has no problem telling me how badly I'm failing.” Merlin's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. “I know my men have been threatening you. Gwaine, however, does not recognize them by name, so I have to beat every last one of them, because I don't know who's been foolish enough to do so. You want to make sure the innocent ones don't get punished, right?”

Merlin thought he was being herded like a recalcitrant sheep, but still he nodded. “What's going on?”

“You just said yourself. You don't know if your magic will protect you. And both of us know very well you're bollocks at protecting yourself, _Mer_ lin. So it looks like I'm going to have to do it for you.”

Merlin scowled. “Hey. I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't need helping.”

But Arthur just grinned outright. “You are most certainly a damsel in distress,  _Mer_ lin.  _My_ damsel in distress.”

Merlin scowled and bucked up, deliberately riding his breeches against Arthur's, rubbing their clothed cocks together as best he could. Arthur's eyes narrowed. “Does that feel like a  _damsel_ to you?”

Arthur leaned further down onto his arms, encasing Merlin beneath him, and rutted slowly against Merlin, this time keeping their pelvises matched together. “Names, Merlin. Now.”

Merlin squirmed under the glare. It made the friction worse. His eyes nearly crossed. “Um, but Kay said they'll turn around. You know? They just need to get used to me again. They lost their trust in me–”

“I don't care. To lose their trust in you would mean to lose their trust in _me_. They see how much I trust you. If they don't have the same trust, it means they think I've taken leave of my senses. They don't believe I'm in my right mind. If I don't have their trust on the battlefield, it could mean their deaths. My death. The death of innocents.” Arthur's words made a disturbing amount of sense. Merlin wondered when Arthur had become so wise. “So. Names.”

And Merlin gave them to Arthur. There were several – more than Arthur had thought, obviously, as his brows drew closer and closer together, his lips firmed more and more, until he nearly looked like a duck, those full lips jutting out against one another. Merlin needed to kiss them more than he needed to breathe. But as soon as he leaned up to do just that, Arthur bolted up from the bed.

The rush of air was downright  _frigid_ . Merlin sat up and wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill.

“So many,” Arthur said. And it was. Over three quarters of Arthur's men had gotten into Merlin's space, glared at him, pushed him, knocked weapons over just as he was walking past them. Smashed or broken something while looking pointedly at Merlin's neck. “This is not something I can merely beat out of them.”

Merlin nearly rolled his eyes. The turn of phrase alone.

Arthur started that annoying pacing thing, and Merlin just gave up and sat back. Let him walk himself into the ground if he had to. It wasn't anything that could be taken care of, really. It was as Kay said. Merlin would simply have to show Arthur's knights that Merlin would sooner die than harm Arthur in any way. He didn't know how to do that, or if it was even possible. He couldn't show off his magic, couldn't show how he'd been protecting Arthur with it all this time. That would be tantamount to suicide. And he didn't have any other skills.

As for the servants – there wasn't a thing he could do there, either. They were suspicious of him only because the guards and knights were. If the knights started trusting Merlin again, then the rest of the staff would, too. It, too, couldn't be forced.

The people... well, none of them actually knew anything. Not yet.

“What can you do to protect yourself?” Arthur asked. “Without placing yourself in mortal danger,” he added. Merlin glared.

“I don't know,” he said. “I never had to try before.”

Arthur stopped pacing for a moment and gave Merlin one long, hard, eyebrow-lifted stare. Merlin had the decency to blush. He conceded the silent point. “All right, fine,” he said. “I just never tried it before.”

Arthur sighed. Loudly.

“It's not like it would work, anyway.” When Arthur cocked an eyebrow, he said, “if I used magic to try to protect myself, people would just get scared. Any use of magic, any at all, would be considered evil. That's just how people think now.”

Arthur closed his eyes, scrunched his face, but didn't argue. “I can't trust the knights to protect you,” Arthur said, “and Gwaine can't be everywhere, taking care of everything. He'll need help.”

Merlin bit his lip. “Well...”

Arthur seared him with a look. “What?”

“Well, we know of someone who you would consider for a knighthood, don't we?”

Arthur blinked. Gaped. Grinned like a feral cat. “Well, Merlin! Sometimes a good idea really does rattle around in that brain of yours.” He frowned. “Now how to contact him?”

“Leave that to me,” Merlin said with a grin. The look Arthur sent him did not hold much confidence, and Merlin swatted at Arthur before he even realized he was doing it. He froze for an instant; they hadn't done anything like that in weeks. Since Arthur had found out. But when Arthur caught his hesitation, he didn't turn away or frown, but instead grabbed Merlin's hand and yanked him back into a seated position. “The villagers love me right now, remember? Or at least, they very definitely want to suck up to me. So I ask them to send along a message to Lancelot. They'll fall all over themselves trying to do it for me.”

Arthur grinned. “Tell them their prince asks it of them, as well.”

Merlin nodded, thrilled that Arthur was trusting him with such a thing. It may have been small, but it was more than Merlin had allowed himself to hope for these last few weeks.

Then he realized that, if Arthur's name was put on the query, any kickback that occurred thanks to Merlin being on the king's shit list would keep both him and Arthur's people from any danger. The thought had Merlin looking up at Arthur like he had just risen from the east. “You will be a great king,” he said, and Arthur shivered.

He stalked back over to Merlin, cupped his face in both hands and dragged Merlin into a kiss. Merlin's breath caught in Arthur's mouth, and he froze for a half second before melting into the heat, his heart nearly bursting. His hands trailed up to Arthur's neck, to the hair at the nape, and he folded into Arthur's body above his. He hadn't been kissed so fiercely in weeks. Over a month. Since that day. He pulled Arthur closer, until they both fell over the side of the bed, lips still pressed together. The world dwindled to heat and light, starbursts that echoed in his magic, just under his skin. He couldn't be more in love.

Arthur dipped his tongue into Merlin's mouth, then again, further, deeper, devouring him. Merlin shook as Arthur leaned back up, those hands still holding Merlin's cheeks in place. “When you look at me like that,” he said, his voice nearly a groan, and he plunged straight back down. Merlin flailed, his body squirming underneath, not knowing what to do with such intensity. He tried to match speed, but he was lost before he'd begun. Arthur just pulled him into his heat, finally moving one hand down to Merlin's back, lifting him until they fit together like puzzle pieces. And then he slipped his tongue around Merlin's and sucked. Merlin's eyes crossed.

Finally Arthur let go, and those blue eyes glittered down on Merlin like a king's jewels. “You look at me as if I'm a god. You can't know what that's like.”

Merlin smiled. “Sexy?”

Arthur groaned and kissed him again.

There were no more questions that evening.

* * *

Merlin blinked open his eyes. They stuck a bit, and he rubbed them to clear the gunk away. It took only a slight turn of his head to see Arthur sitting at his desk, finishing up what looked to be the last piece of paper there – though no doubt a new pile awaited him as soon as he opened his doors. Merlin yawned.

“Good morning, idiot.” Arthur didn't even turn his head. “Thanks for falling asleep in the middle of that, by the way. It's good for the self-esteem.”

“Your self-esteem could use a few hits,” Merlin said, yawning again. He was actually pretty amazed he'd managed to sleep after those kisses – which had lasted a very long, very _nicely_ long amount of time. But then again, could anyone blame him? The bed was like a cloud. “Maybe you should get a less comfortable bed if you want to sit people down on them.”

Arthur did give him a look this time, and Merlin wondered if he should be concerned about the hunter's stare he received. “I'll keep that in mind for next time.”

Merlin blushed at the implication, even as his mind skittered to a halt. “You mean... there'll be a next time?”

Arthur opened his mouth for a retort, then paused when he realized Merlin was being serious. “Of course,” he said, and stopped again when he saw the wide-eyed, almost teary look on Merlin's face. But instead of calling him a girl, as usual, he dropped his quill and strode over to Merlin. He knelt by the side of the bed, and as Merlin scrambled to sit up, grabbed his hand. “I know what my reticence has seemed like. I know I made you think I hold no more regard for you. But rest assured that I've learned my lesson there. You told me once that your feelings hadn't changed, even if mine had. Merlin,  _my feelings for you never changed._ ”

Merlin's mind blanked, then whirred at high speed. “But... you said the reason you started hating me was because of the lies.”

Arthur frowned. “I never said any such thing.”

“I said I thought you hated me because I didn't try to break free from the tomb. You said the lies were the reason.” Merlin looked down at the blankets. They were stuffed with fluffy fleece, and Merlin felt a small sweep of envy, because _comfy_. And thank goodness his mind refused to dwell on his own words. Dwelling would be bad.

Arthur tugged on Merlin's fingers until Merlin's entire body was half-pulled to the edge of the bed. “Merlin, look at me.”

Merlin did. Arthur was scowling. “I never finished that sentence, Merlin, because I knew what it would mean! I was angry, stupidly angry, and I took it out on you, and I let the phrase go when I shouldn't have. I should have corrected you then.” Arthur's lips thinned. “I have many things to answer for.”

“Arthur.” Merlin shifted on the bed, somehow only then realizing he'd been lying on top of the blankets the night before, and now found his feet encased beneath. Which meant Arthur had actually tucked him in. It took some serious shifting, and a bit of scrabbling, and Merlin nearly fell off the bed once, but he managed to get himself extricated and sitting up.

Arthur stood just as Merlin got himself situated. He had a look on his face that said he didn't want to be disturbed. Merlin looked around. It was dark out, he noticed, and the curtains had once more been opened, letting in the moonlight as Arthur worked, two candles flickering idly on either side of his desk. Even though Arthur had most likely worked his butt off to make sure they could have the time that day to discuss everything, Arthur had still let Merlin lie in. Merlin sighed. “Your eyesight's going to go bad, you keep doing that.”

“My eyesight is just fine,” Arthur said. “Perhaps yours is just weak.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. A horrible idea entered his head, and he shifted, hunched down, played with the seam of the blanket. “Merlin, stop wrecking my bed.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I can just make it again.”

“I don't want you anywhere near a needle and thread,” Arthur said, staring at the paper on his desk with a slight glare.

“I wouldn't have to be near them,” he said, the joke nearly horrifying him as it came out.

Arthur looked up at it, mouth slightly agape, blue eyes widening, narrowing, widening. And Arthur said, “what?”

What had he been thinking? Merlin shivered. It had just popped out. He couldn't believe it. Arthur still had only started to accept the idea of magic as anything other than evil, let alone Merlin having such capabilities. He opened his mouth to apologize, then hesitated, not sure how the apology would be received.

“Merlin, explain.”

Merlin shrugged and stood, wondering if Arthur ever got his dinner. His own stomach rumbled slightly at the thought of food. “Something like that is pretty simple, actually. Maybe because I did it so often as a kid? Cleaning up with my magic, I mean.” He ignored the way his lips fumbled on the word  _magic_ . If he could sound natural speaking of it, maybe Arthur would learn to, as well.

“Hold on.” Arthur held up a hand. “Have you been using magic to do your chores?”

Merlin didn't need to look to know Arthur was glaring warningly at him, but he did, anyway, because it was a kick to learn Arthur worried more about Merlin being caught than about Merlin being able to use magic. He shrugged and hid his smile. “Maybe you shouldn't give me so many chores.”

“Merlin! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He didn't even bother trodding down that old path. “Gaius has already warned me.”

“Apparently Gaius isn't strict enough!”

“What would you have me do, Arthur? Magic is in my blood. It's who I am. It would be like – like trying to take the prince out of you. No matter what, where you go, what you do, you are always, first and foremost, a prince. Every part of you screams it. What about me? How am I supposed to take away something that's a piece of me?”

Arthur's mouth snapped shut. Merlin could see the war going on inside him – the one that said he couldn't allow Merlin to continue, and the one that said he could never  _not_ be a prince, and that, if Merlin's magic was the same, then he understood. Merlin waited only a few moments. “I've tried to be as careful as possible. I let my guard down when I'm with Gaius or in my room, and I don't have time to worry about it when I'm protecting you. But despite how many times I've used magic around you, you haven't noticed once. People don't  _look_ for magic with me. When they see me, all they see is a bumbling servant.” And Merlin gave Arthur his best goofy grin.

It made Arthur narrow his eyes. Merlin remembered the real reason Arthur had been angry – the  _lies_ , the  _falseness_ of his relationship with the Merlin he'd thought he'd known – and quickly dropped the grin. “Here,” he said, and carefully moved to cover the windows once more. Arthur's brows pulled low, but by the time Merlin closed the second and third windows, the looked changed to one of dawning comprehension. Merlin watched it, watched as Arthur shifted from surprise to wide-eyed, breath-stopping panic, before finally narrowing to something assessing, almost menacing. When Merlin stopped, hesitated before Arthur, Arthur nodded.

He took a deep breath. Then a deeper one, because the first got caught in his chest. He held out his hand, and it shook. “ _Leoht_.”

The orb glowed in the room as it grew above his hand, bathing the room in light blue luminescence. Arthur's eyes widened almost comically. Merlin felt so much fear it was like a lance through him; his entire body shivered, and he gasped. Arthur leaned forward, almost as if entranced, and slowly, so slowly Merlin thought Arthur's muscles should take offense, he stood. “I've seen this before,” Arthur said. Merlin almost pulled away as Arthur came forward; his heart beat like a bird's, jamming his throat. Arthur reached out, almost surprised at the lack of heat. His fingers stopped just before touching the orb. “When I went after the morteus flower, when you were dying.”

The morteus flower – when he'd been unconscious, dying of poison. Gaius had told Merlin that he'd conjured a ball of light, and Merlin thought he remembered Arthur's reticence on what had happened. Gaius had said Arthur had received magical help. It hadn't taken Merlin and Gaius long to figure out Merlin's magic had probably reached Arthur somehow, but it was something else again to have the theory verified. Merlin dropped his hand, and his gaze, not knowing what to say.

“You were dying,” Arthur said again. “And still you saved me.”

Merlin looked up all over again at the tone of Arthur's voice. He didn't seem afraid, or even angry, as Merlin had half expected. Instead he looked... it was almost fear, but not quite. Merlin didn't know what it was. Awe, almost, but weighted. Like Arthur had found himself at the head of an army and just then realized that every man's sword would aim wherever he pointed, and that every man would kill, and die, without a blink, without thought. The weight of regard, Merlin realized finally.

Still, despite how Arthur looked at the knowledge of what Merlin could – would –  _had_ – done for him, still Merlin said, quietly, reverently, “anything for you, Arthur.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “It's in my blood, it seems. I did it while I was unconscious,” he explained at Arthur's blank look.

Arthur rubbed a hand down his face. “You were unconscious.”

Merlin nodded. “Apparently I was mumbling as the illness got worse. And then I did that. Without specific incantation, too. Gaius was impressed.”

Arthur seemed impressed, too. Or maybe disturbed. “Did anyone else hear you?”

Merlin shook his head. “Gaius didn't say anything about it, and he would have, if it had been an issue.”

Arthur didn't seem as ready to accept that as Merlin, but he let it slide. “What else can you do? You said you were already lifting things and moving them when you were a child. You played with the leaves? Manipulated water?”

“I didn't manipulate it, per se. Just made it move. It's not the same as, say, freezing it or burning it into steam.” Merlin flushed a bit. “Though, I think I could do that, too.” Arthur's impressed/disturbed stare returned. Merlin shrugged. “I don't know. Whenever I need it, it works for me. Whatever I need. If I practice a spell, I become even better at it.”

“You practice spells?” Arthur asked.

“No, I leave your life up to chance.” He gave Arthur a look, but the prince merely glared at it. Joking was out, then. Merlin sighed. “What do you want, Arthur? It's better that I learn how to control it, isn't it? And I only use it for you. Always. If I can't protect you, then what use is my magic?”

Arthur shivered. Outright shivered, and that near-terrified look came back. Merlin didn't understand why Arthur looked that way. He had a contingent of knights who followed his every beck and call. Every single person in Camelot looked to him for guidance, safety, protection; even, come winter, sustenance. The whole of the kingdom looked to him as the next leader, the one who would one day rule over them all. Everyone's hopes and dreams had always, in some way or another, rested on Arthur's shoulders. Why did knowing Merlin's did, too, awaken in him this concern?

But he knew better than to ask. Arthur would just lie and say he felt no such thing. The man truly was, in every way, a complete and total prat.

Arthur waved toward his bed as he turned away, looking like he needed to test his blade out on something or else he would go mad. “Get some rest,” he said, as if Merlin hadn't just woken up a few moments ago. “I need to see to some things, and it's too late to fetch Gwaine. I'll lock the door behind me. You should be safe.” Arthur turned to Merlin. “Do not leave this room. Do you understand me?”

It wouldn't be the first time Merlin nearly pulled an all-nighter in Arthur's room, but it was certainly the first time he'd been ordered to rest, and definitely the first time Arthur hadn't been inside. “Do you think I'll be attacked by the guards or something?” Though Merlin didn't half doubt it.

“Do you think I'm taking the chance?” Arthur said, his gaze already far off, on something else.

“What are these 'other things' you have to take care of? You didn't forget about something. You would have triple-checked everything before starting this whole thing.”

Arthur gave Merlin a sideways glance. “Don't worry about it,  _Mer_ lin. I just need to check on a few things.”

Did Merlin  _want_ to know which things? “Something I said brought this up?”

Arthur didn't even bother answering that one, which meant he thought it so obvious it didn't require answering. Merlin went through a mental checklist of everything he'd spoken of – having magic, it working whenever he needed it, needing to train his magic, using it for Arthur. He couldn't think of a single thing that Arthur could have touched on to need to go do something.

He hung around beside the bedpost as Arthur grabbed his sword and moved to the door. Then Arthur stopped, stood still for a moment, and turned right back around, nearly storming up to Merlin. “Here.” And Arthur pulled out his dagger, the one he always kept at his side. Just in case. “ _Do not_ use your magic if something goes wrong, not unless you absolutely have to. My number one rule remains the same: do not die. But do try to not be a complete idiot about protecting yourself.”

Arthur's words may have been a bit nonsensical, but Merlin understood all the same. He clutched Arthur's dagger to his chest. “I'll be careful, Arthur.”

Arthur snorted as if he couldn't help but not believe a single word of that, but he nodded and turned to go all the same. “Just... keep the dagger close. Even when you sleep, keep it under your pillow.” Arthur eyed his bed. “And try not to hog the entire bed. I will want to get some sleep sometime tonight.”

Merlin's brain fried at the idea of sleeping with Arthur. By the time he managed to get the vision of Arthur's naked chest spooned against his own out of his mind, Arthur had already left, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Merlin was immediately aware of the warmth that pressed around him, pulling him from the dark edges of sleep. The blankets shuffed quietly as Arthur snuggled underneath. Merlin didn't move. He half expected Arthur to kick him out, or tell him to busy himself with chores, but instead Arthur just pulled him close, one hand over his heart in that habit he'd picked up on that last ride back to Camelot, and sighed as if releasing himself of a great burden. Merlin listened, ready for Arthur to comment on Merlin's heartbeat, or breathing, to say he knew Merlin was awake, or maybe just skip that part and ask Merlin a question. But he didn't. He just snuggled closer –  _Arthur snuggled_ – and settled, his breath already half-slowed in slumber. Each breath puffed hotly against Merlin's neck.

And suddenly he had a problem.

Merlin wasn't the randiest guy in town. That title would most likely have to go to Gwaine, who had already shared four more stories of women he'd picked up, even though most of his time in Camelot was spent watching after Merlin. So no, Merlin certainly wasn't the type to think constantly on sex. But that was not to say that he didn't have his moments of sitting in his room above Gaius and biting his lip to stay quiet while he took things in hand. At first, when he'd initially come to Camelot, his visions had been of Morgana, and a couple of times before her death, Freya. But over time, it had been Arthur. Once, Lancelot. But over and over again, Arthur, until he was in every one. And then when Arthur had turned from him, he'd been unable to take care of the problem – every time he tried, the vision of Arthur, his eyes full of betrayal and anger, left Merlin half-flaccid and too hurt to continue.

And now that was all coming back to bite him in the ass.

It took about two seconds to go from drowsy and limp to awake and hard as a rock. Arthur's breath slowly evened out as Merlin kept himself stone still, each of those breaths curling the hairs on the nape of his neck and basically leaving him wanting to dry hump air. His heart skittered wildly as he took each breath, trying for slow and steady and getting more stuttered and desperate.

He knew it was too early for them to go back to their old selves sexually. There was a level of trust to getting naked between them that they hadn't quite returned to. Or at least, Merlin hadn't thought they'd yet returned to it. Yet here Arthur was, hugging Merlin to him as he slept. It was something Arthur hadn't done before Merlin had given away his secret, let alone...

It crashed together as Arthur stiffened behind him. Merlin felt that breath on his neck speed up. Arthur's fist clenched, and suddenly flattened out over Merlin's chest. A few moments of tension later, during which Merlin wondered if Arthur had woken up, Arthur relaxed again. His breaths evened out once more.

Arthur was having nightmares.

For a full ten minutes, the guilt swamped him. Arthur's hand over his heart was to hear it beat. If Arthur had been having nightmares – presumably about the time when Merlin's magic had encased him in time, preventing even his heart from beating – then that meant Merlin was in his bed not as a guest, per se, but as a ward against those dreams.

But then something warm slithered guiltily under the cracks of his shame, and he blinked into the night as it nested inside him. Happiness. Guilty pleasure, that Arthur's nightmares were for Merlin's safety. It was a thought he'd never considered getting the chance to have. Another piece of proof that maybe, just maybe, he'd been wrong, and that Arthur really did care about him. Even with his magic.

Merlin curled his own fingers through Arthur's, until their hands lay entwined over his heart. “I love you,” he whispered.

And he finally relaxed into sleep.

* * *

The next day was strange; while he still got the normal amount of glares and snide remarks, everyone seemed to back off a little bit. Apparently sleeping with Arthur through the night and both of them coming out of the experience alive was worth a few brownie points. Of course, a few men gave him a look that said they knew his sex with Arthur was actually a druidic ritual for evil love enchantments. Or, well, something to that effect. Gwaine scared them off, so that was worth something. And maybe that was another reason Arthur brought Gwaine to every practice – so his men could see how strong he was, and they would back down rather than start something.

Or maybe, Merlin mused, he was giving Arthur way too much credit.

Either way, he didn't get the same level of harassment as usual, and that made him much happier when he was forced to attend the usual judicial meeting Uther held every few days for his people. Arthur, of course, sat by Uther's side, and Merlin stood by Arthur's, despite the twitching it gave Uther. Arthur listened attentively to everything each of his people said, and when it came time to decide what to do, Arthur made sure his father was fair in all dealings. Every time Arthur spoke, asking for clarification on one man's issue with another man's fencing, calming his father to reason when Uther heard of 'spiritual crystals' hanging over a woman's crib, his heart nearly burst. He couldn't believe he didn't have the love inside him stamped all over his forehead; how could anyone doubt how he felt? Arthur caught his eye when it was all nearly over, and they stared for a moment at one another. Merlin smiled at him, and Arthur... was that a blush? No, but nearly; Arthur turned back around before it could grow.

Uther caught the look, however, and called a halt to the procession of injuries. The people slowly filed out, used to Uther's odd moods, Merlin supposed. He instantly felt guilty when Uther said, “Arthur. A word,” and glared around with a snarled, “alone.”

People made themselves scarce. Merlin knew Arthur was about to listen to another lecture on Merlin's evil and felt... angry? No. Defensive? No. But like he wanted to shield Arthur from it. If he could, he would stand in front of Arthur and demand Uther take it out on him. But that would mean facing the pyre, and even if Merlin was suicidal (which he was  _not_ , thank you), he'd made a promise to Arthur, and a promise to Arthur was a vow he had to keep.

He left the room before Uther could find an excuse to throw him in the dungeons or something, but when he left, he realized that Gwaine might not have known about the sudden end to the meeting, which he always studiously avoided. And sure enough, Gwaine was not present. Merlin warred with himself. On one hand, the very idea of being frightened to walk along the halls chafed at him like mad. On the other, he knew very well it was a sound fear. While he hadn't been outright mauled all day, that wasn't exactly a winning study of love and warmth from those in the castle.

Of course, if he showed fear, wouldn't that be an instigator? Wouldn't that be fueling the fire? Or would walking around like nothing was wrong make the guards angry?

Well, he couldn't stay by the door without seeming like an eavesdropper, so he made an executive decision to go to Gaius', or maybe Arthur's room, and wait in there where it was primarily safe.

He'd managed about two halls before someone shouted his name.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Kay sidled up next to him.

“Merlin.” Kay frowned down at him. Merlin shifted from foot to foot. He didn't think Kay was going to attack him, not after that lovely speech all those days ago, but his nervousness spiked nonetheless. There was no longer anyone beside him to glare the knights into submission. “What are you doing alone?”

He pointed back toward the throne room, wondering if he'd seen Kay within or not. “They adjourned early, so...”

Kay's frown deepened. It nearly left grooves in his cheeks. “You shouldn't be out here without Gwaine or someone else trustworthy by your side.”

Merlin shifted again. “I know. I'm on my way to Arthur's room.”

“Then I will escort you.”

Merlin blinked. “O-Okay.”

Kay shook his head. He looked like he was about to say something, but he apparently chose silence and simply motioned Merlin forward. Merlin followed Kay, but Kay just frowned at him until finally Merlin slipped in front of him. Then they continued.

It was an awkward, silent march toward Arthur's rooms, but while a few guards and knights turned their gazes on Merlin and Kay, none of them stepped forward. He saw several odd glances being turned in Kay's direction, however, and Merlin frowned at it. “Are they going to give you a hard time because of this?” he asked, only a few hallways between them and the sanctity of Arthur's bedroom.

“More likely they'll stop giving you such a hard time.”

Merlin slipped back into silence, brow furrowed, until the made it to the door of Arthur's chambers. It was odd how calm Merlin felt as soon as the room was before him. He touched the frame of the door. “I won't say I'm not still suspicious,” Kay said, drawing Merlin's attention back to him. Merlin shifted from foot to foot all over again, not sure if he should be wary or not. “I probably always will be. But I remember the day you first entered the castle, and the days following. I know, no matter what you are or are not, you are Arthur's servant first and foremost.”

Merlin nearly crumbled at the feel of warmth. The man's gaze was steady. He didn't look away. “I know you have no reason to believe me,” Merlin said, “but I would die for Arthur. I would never do anything to take away who he is.”

It was as close to an admission as he dared. His heart nearly beat out of his chest. But Kay only nodded and opened Arthur's door. “Get inside,” he said gruffly. “I'll be sure to let the prince know where you are.”

Merlin beamed at him, hoping the man could understand somehow the measure of Merlin's gratitude. “Thank you.”

Kay just ushered him in and closed the door behind him. Even though it wasn't locked, Merlin knew no one would dare enter the prince's chamber without permission. Only Merlin had the audacity to do that.

It was sad what a relief that was.

He went to the bed, even though he'd made it earlier, when he'd first gotten Arthur up. (And it was also sad that he woke up before Arthur, sad and telling, because Merlin loved his sleep.) He caressed the coverlets, even though they were completely unwrinkled already. Then he ran a hand through his hair.

Arthur had somehow spoken sense into Kay, whatever 'sense' even meant when this sort of situation was applied. Merlin, supposed sorcerer, was defended by his prince and called out to not be a sorcerer, even though both he and Arthur knew damn well he was.

Well, to be fair, though Arthur had heavily implied he wasn't magic, he'd never actively denied it, either. But Arthur wouldn't see the difference, and neither would his knights. Merlin could, but then again, Merlin was a liar through and through. The thought made him shiver. He didn't like that truth about himself.

But... it was hope. Hope that, maybe, over time, Arthur's men might not hate him so thoroughly. Merlin's heart beat at the thought. Of course, they couldn't know about his magic. If they did, the suspicion would turn to outright violence. And it hurt, a bit, to know that. But their opinions weren't the ones he cared so much about. He could survive their hatred. It was Arthur's that would crush him.

And it was amazing, spectacular, miraculous, because the anger seemed to have blown over. Arthur accepted him again.

He picked up a pillow and hugged it, pretending in his mind that he was just fluffing it, because it was girly and ridiculous but he just felt like if he didn't hold something to his chest, it just might break apart and fly to the heavens. Arthur accepted him.

That's what it meant, right, to listen to Merlin ramble on about his magic and yell at him only because Merlin had been stupid and reckless and not because... because he was who he was?

He hugged the pillow closer. It almost hurt, this feeling of hope inside of him.

That would be when he heard something, an almost slithering noise, from behind him, and turned in time to see something crawling like a millipede across the floor. He yelped and backed away; the thing reared up, and on instinct, Merlin used his magic to fling it away. It slapped against the wall, splatted a bit, and fell back to the floor. Merlin held out his hand.  _“Behéh in wapul!”_

Pain lanced through him. He gasped.

Merlin's magic encased the creature before it could charge him again, and, finally trapped, Merlin could see it. He'd been wrong to call it a millipede; it seemed to only have a single pair of feet. The rest, he couldn't quite say. The size of a large rat, it was long, serpentine save for the two legs, with a head that looked insanely like an arrow.

Merlin looked around. The setting didn't change. He was still in Arthur's room. His throat bobbed. This attack hadn't been meant for him.

Arthur. Where was Arthur?

He spun around, intending to rush down to the throne room, threats to his safety be damned, but he stopped. Not because he was afraid, but because Arthur might have managed to squeeze himself free from Uther. And if he had, then he could be anywhere. Maybe Kay hadn't gotten to him yet. Or maybe he was on his way up at that very moment, and Merlin might leave him alone in the bedroom with weird creatures trying to attack him. First and foremost, he needed to make sure the place was safe.

Steadily feeding the cage a bit of his magic to ensure the creature's frantic hops didn't actually break through the barrier, he quickly scanned the room, then did a walk-through, stepping around, trying to incite any more creatures into jumping up and attacking him. When that didn't happen, he ducked down onto his hands and knees and started putting his hand under the bed, the cabinets; he opened closet doors and rooted around inside. Opened cabinet doors. Tossed way Arthur's food and drink, just in case; he could go and get more later. The creature slammed bodily into the magic barrier over and over again; Merlin could feel each pound as a sort of reverberation against his magic.

The door opened as Merlin ripped the covers off the bed, and he heard Arthur say, “Merlin, what exactly are you doing?” before he whipped around.

“Arthur! Don't come in; I haven't cleared the room yet.”

But Arthur's eyes had already caught on the creature suspended in Merlin's sphere of magic, and he slammed the door closed behind him. “Merlin! What are you thinking?!” And he raced heedlessly through the room to pull the blinds closed. Merlin shadowed him, hands up, ready to grab at any creature that might launch itself at his king. Arthur whirled on him. He caught Merlin's body still prepared for attack, and something strange contorted his expression. Merlin dropped his arms, horrified. Arthur still thought...

But then the look faded and Arthur grabbed his shoulders. “Stop performing magic in the open, you idiot!” he hissed, and looked over to the other windows, still letting in the afternoon light. He let go and hurried to them. “What's going on?”

“I don't know. I came to your room because the court adjourned early and Gwaine wasn't there,” he said, and Arthur nodded, his lips thin. He had to have been told where Merlin was by Kay; normally Arthur stormed about the castle after dealing with his father, or he started another training session with his knights to let off steam. The last thing he did was coop himself up in his room; it looked like a kind of defeat. “And that thing launched itself at me – Arthur, it was obviously meant for you, I wasn't meant to come back into this room for hours yet–”

“And if I hadn't argued with my father, I would be up here dealing with those,” he said, gesturing to the ridiculous pile of papers that had managed to warp onto his desk in the few hours they'd been away. It looked to be nearly three inches thick. Arthur would have been at it until dinnertime. Something ticked in Arthur's jaw. “You're all right?” And he looked Merlin up and down.

“Yes,” Merlin said, amazed once again that Arthur was showing concern for him. The look earlier deadened the happiness. The suspicion wasn't completely gone. But Arthur had dismissed it, and that, Merlin told himself firmly, was still a good sign. “I'm used to surprise attacks after being around you for so long.”

Merlin tried a smile at that, but Arthur's lips just thinned a little more. He gestured for Merlin to take off his shirt. “You're usually fumbling like an idiot,  _Mer_ lin; I'm often amazed you don't trip and impale yourself on a sword.”

Merlin actually grabbed the hem of his shirt as Arthur stepped forward, but it was in an effort to keep it  _on_ . He didn't want to bare himself to Arthur when Arthur still wasn't ready to accept Merlin as his lover again. When Arthur still thought, even for an instant, that Merlin might have been about to attack him. “I'm not that bad! And it didn't even touch me. It didn't get close enough. I'm  _fine_ .”

“I'll be the judge of that.” And Arthur's hands curled over Merlin's, yanking up while Merlin pushed down. Of course Arthur was stronger than him physically, and Merlin's heart sped up as Arthur forced him to bare his midriff. Arthur huffed. “Stop being an idiot, _Mer_ lin. You and I both know I've seen it all.”

Merlin blushed, mortified. “But not like this,” he said without thinking. He wished he could clamp his lips shut as Arthur hesitated, clearly understanding.

But then Arthur said, “don't be ridiculous; I've seen you shirtless before, you idiot, when you've needed it.” And he forced Merlin's shirt off despite him, mostly because Merlin's resistance was nearly making the stitching rip, and Merlin didn't want to deal with losing a shirt or stitching it up all night. Not when he potentially had a new enemy to search for.

And thus the shirt came off, Merlin forced to oblige Arthur's whims as the shirt yanked on his arms. He shivered as Arthur looked him up and down, made him turned around. The hand on his shoulder nearly burned.

“Now your pants,” Arthur said, and he squawked.

“No!” He backed up, nearly bumping into the stupid creature. It thumped angrily against its cage. “I'm fine, Arthur! It really didn't touch me. I swear. I caught it before it could. Blasted it away, actually,” he said, and gestured toward the wall, where a small dot of green blood – or bright mucus? – painted the wall.

Arthur's gaze was assessing, almost dark, before he said, “fine.” He hesitated. “Do you have any way of finding out where it came from? Who sent it here?”

“It might not have been sent. It's small. People might have mistaken it for a mouse.” But Merlin chewed his lip, because he didn't think that was the case. And by the look on Arthur's face, he didn't, either. “I don't know,” he said finally. I've never... but I can try.”

He moved toward the thing, still encased in his little bubble. Arthur hurried over to the other two windows and closed them, as well. Then he marched over to his door and locked it. Merlin hadn't thought to do it; he was used to having to be openly clandestine. He was proud of himself for not instinctively trying to hide the creature or distract Arthur out of the room, as he would have just over a month ago. It was like every part of him had wanted Arthur to know, and the disguise he constantly maintained just dropped away.

Either that or he'd become complacent, knowing Uther already knew. And he hoped that wasn't the case.

He'd never used his magic to try to trace something back to its source before. And he'd certainly never used it to trace a magic user. He wondered if there were repercussions for that. He wondered if the magic user would trace him back, too. But Arthur had asked him to use his magic, and it was a wondrous, glorious feeling, having Arthur know about his magic, accept it, make plans involving it. To trust Merlin with a responsibility. To be willing to see Merlin's magic in action and not send him straight to the pyre.

His hands trembled. His magic roared around him, practically bouncing as he willed it, with everything he was, to  _work_ , because like never before, he wanted to make something happen. He wanted to show Arthur what his magic could do for him. What it could be. That it was merely an ability, and could be used for any purpose. And he desperately wanted to show Arthur  _just how much_ Merlin wanted to use it for him.

He wasn't sure if there was a way to track magic through a creature. But was it normal for such a thing to show up in his room? Was it normal for it to try to attack over and over, without rest, even though it was trapped? He didn't know enough about the creature to be sure, but he was willing to bet the answer was no. So he focused on that and let his magic flow.  _“Ábeþece drýcræft!”_

His magic surged, wrapping around its own sphere and pulsing before moving inward and encasing the creature, and the pain rose again, curling out from his chest to the rest of his body. Merlin bit his lip. The bubble encasing the creature alone was enough to make his magic pulse, then the creature made it pulse again, finding more magic, but he pushed harder, further, wrapping around the thing once more before sinking into its scales, then slipping through it. And finally his magic pulsed again, not with the recognition of his own magic or the recognition of a magical creature, but to something different. Something alien. Merlin's breath stuttered.  _“Áspyre!”_

And his magic trailed out past the wall of Arthur's room and down to the street below. Merlin thought his heart would burst.

He gasped. “It worked,” he said, and dared to turn to Arthur. He was staring at Merlin like he was an alien, yet even as Merlin shrank into himself, he noticed it wasn't condemning. Arthur didn't look like he wanted to pull out his sword and stab it through Merlin's neck.

No. Instead, he almost looked like he thought Merlin might be some sort of celestial being. Merlin took a deep breath. “Arthur,” he said, and it seemed almost like the prince was snapped from some sort of trance.

“Merlin. Your eyes.” And as Merlin just blinked, Arthur stepped into his space and brushed Merlin's bangs from his face, cupped his cheek. “They're golden.”

It took Merlin a split second to realize Arthur wasn't waxing poetic. “Oh. Yes, apparently my eyes, um, do that when I perform magic.”

Merlin could almost hear Arthur's heart rate increase. “Even more trouble,” he said, yet his voice was breathy.

“Arthur,” he said again, cutting off wherever Arthur might have been heading with the increasingly odd conversation. “This... is hard. And it goes down.” He looked again from the creature to the wall, where the feel of his magic tugged downward. He shivered. “We have to hurry to find it.”

He didn't tell Arthur the rest – that using his magic seemed to be _painful_. He didn't understand it. He would need to speak to Gaius.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “Merlin, your eyes are lit like the sun. If you leave this room...” He covered his mouth with one hand, thinking. “If you peek out, can you give me the general direction? It's the best we can do.”

Merlin gave Arthur a scandalized look. “And send you out against someone who wants you dead with no protection? No. I can go. I can keep my head down.”

“No,” Arthur said. “If that's what's necessary, then we'll let it go.”

Merlin's jaw dropped.

“Don't you understand yet, Merlin? If you go out there, if one of the knights sees you, you'll be thrown on the pyre before we can so much as take another step!” Arthur moved to the window Merlin had sent a quick look to and pulled back a sliver of the curtain. The ray of light beamed across the floor. “Now look out. And if you can't do more, then that's fine. We can search for the sorcerer through conventional means.”

Merlin gave Arthur a look, despite the pain that made his limbs ache. The look plainly said what he thought about the success rate of 'conventional means.'

But Arthur was adamant, and short of going behind his back – which Merlin couldn't do and expect to retain the trust that was still recovering between them – he couldn't go against Arthur's wishes. He wondered if he could hold the creature in its bubble long enough for them to try again later, that night. Probably not; the pain was getting too distracting as it was. But maybe he could follow the trail of magic without actually leaving the room? It was their best shot.

Merlin crept toward the window, but he pinched his eyes shut and struggled to follow the thread of magic. It was easy at first; it traveled up the wall of the castle, following the path the creature had taken, then slithered across the grass beside the castle walls. But then it got messy; the path snaked outside of Camelot, dimming the further away it got, and Merlin heaved in a breath as he struggled to follow the line. Then it thickened, just a bit – no longer following the creature, but the one who enchanted it – and the line of magic turned, heading straight back for Camelot, and slid through the entrance to the lower town. That's where Merlin started shaking, started losing the trail for bits and pieces at a time; while the lines traveled, it curved, shifted, and there were so many other feet. Once, the feel nearly got pulled into another direction, as the line of the person he followed got crossed with someone else with magic. But he managed to catch it. His knees buckled.

Arthur's hand gripped his arm, keeping him from smashing to the floor. Merlin clutched the hand on his and followed the trail along the ground, through groups that got thicker and thicker as the trail led closer and closer to the merchants' square. He nearly lost it completely as it turned toward what Merlin thought was the tailor's, then the jeweler's. He thought he might be getting close. Nearly. Almost.

“Merlin!”

He lost it.

Merlin fell to the floor, dragging Arthur down with him. He gasped and shivered and groaned slightly as every one of his muscles pulled as if torn. When Merlin reached for the thread again, he found himself trailing it down the wall of Camelot again. He gasped in a breath, ready to follow the trail again, but found himself being dragged into Arthur's chest. “Enough! Stop! I demand you stop now, Merlin. _Stop_.”

It was the broken sound of Arthur's voice that got Merlin to let go of his magic. When he did, he nearly collapsed into Arthur's arms. He struggled; the pain was still there, an ache that pulled on everything, nearly making his flesh like hot coals, because he'd at least kept the presence of mind to keep the creature in its makeshift cell. “Arthur, I – kill it. It's cursed to attack you or die trying. I can't...”

Arthur scowled, but he moved Merlin to the bed, leaned him against the side of it, and rose. One fluid movement later and his sword was in his hand. It passed through Merlin's shield like butter, accepted as part of Arthur, as an extension of Arthur's own arm, and Merlin would allow Arthur anything. And so it passed through, cut the creature in half with one clean strike, and shone as Merlin finally let the shield fall. The creature fell with a wet plop. It did not rise.

Then Arthur was back at Merlin's side, sword on the ground beside him, feeling Merlin's face, his chest – and those fingers paused long enough to feel Merlin's slightly unsteady heartbeat – before Arthur pulled up the sleeve on Merlin's right arm. Merlin huffed. “It's not that,” he said, but Arthur glared him into silence.

“Is this normal?” he demanded. “Is this what your magic costs you?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don't know what this is,” he said. “It's never happened before.”

And that alarmed Arthur enough that he motioned for Merlin to get up. Merlin cocked a brow. “The jeweler's,” he said. “Leading over to the potter's. It was probably a woman, unless the man was pretending to shop for a woman. I know the first shop – a tailor's, specializing in dresses and sashes. Gwen always looks at the clothes in there.” He smiled a bit wanly at Arthur. “I've tried to find out which dress she liked best so I could tell you.”

Arthur's face flashed a million pictures. Merlin didn't bother trying to read them all. Not just then.

“Then it was the jeweler's. Pretty obvious there. And then the potter. It was most likely a woman. But I couldn't get a read on it in time.” Merlin frowned. “I'm sorry, Arthur. I might have been able to get more if I didn't...” And then he trailed off, because he wasn't quite sure just what it was he didn't do or need or have.

Arthur's gaze traveled from the dead creature to Merlin and back. Merlin could see the war in him. “I'm fine enough,” he said, and managed to somehow earn his glare with that small sentence alone. He chose to ignore it. “It's not life-threatening. I just won't use my magic. I'll be okay.”

Arthur looked at war with himself. Merlin realized that he might have returned to 'helpless' in Arthur's eyes, wondered if Arthur was thinking back on when they'd been attacked by bandits and Merlin's head had nearly been cleaved from his shoulders. Without his magic, he was back to being the foolishly loyal manservant without a piss of fighting ability to protect him. And leaving his helpless lover in a dangerous situation scratched against everything Arthur was.

Merlin pushed lightly against Arthur's chest. “Go, idiot. I'll be right here when you get back.”

Arthur sighed. “Will you be all right?” He tried to sound sarcastic, flippant, but it was ruined when he cupped Merlin's cheek like he was spun glass.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I've managed to survive being your manservant for two years, Arthur. I think I can handle sitting in your room for an hour or two.”

Arthur didn't seem happy with the thought of so much time passing, but he finally chuffed at Merlin's smirk and shoved him, very lightly, on his shoulder. “Are you complaining about serving your prince, _Mer_ lin?”

“Oh, never, sire,” he said, smirk widening into an all-out grin. It managed to pull a smaller version from Arthur, and Merlin's heart soared once more at it, as always. “Who wouldn't want to clean your smelly boots?”

“Exactly. There are those who would pay to have your job.”

“More the fool they,” Merlin said, and earned himself another soft push.

Then Arthur stood up, his body tense as he accepted the burden of an incoming battle. Yet his hands, when they took Merlin's weight and helped him to his feet, were gentle. “Get in bed,” he said, even though Merlin had managed a perfectly serviceable night of rest just a few hours before.

But Merlin couldn't say he wasn't tired, and the excuse to not move for a little while was welcome, as well. He still huffed and glared, but Arthur didn't seem to buy it for a minute, and just stared until Merlin finally crawled over the plush mattress and curled underneath the covers. Arthur actually tucked him in before grabbing his sword and turning to the door. “Arthur.”

His king turned to him immediately. Another flush of warmth purred through him at the action. “Be careful.”

Arthur lifted his head in acknowledgment. “Get some rest,” he ordered once more, even though Merlin had obviously already capitulated. “I'll see if I can find Gwaine and send him up to look in on you. Just in case.”

Just in case what? Another creature got into the room? In case the person who sent it came to finish the job the creature hadn't been able to finish?

Okay, so maybe Arthur had a point.

Merlin snuggled under the covers, amazed that he was once again being invited to sleep in Arthur's bed. His spine tingled at the thought of it, and the pain slowly ebbed.

The pain. He frowned at the reminder. Why did using his magic hurt? Had he misused it somehow when he'd protected himself, leaving his body, for all intents and purposes, dead for what Arthur had told him was several days? Had it messed him up? Messed his magic up?

The idea of not being magic anymore cut through him just a little less than the thought of no longer being able to protect Arthur.

He tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep, trying to will himself to stillness so his body could stop thrumming aching jolts of pain through his body. But the nagging thought remained, a virus in the back of his mind, until finally he heard Gwaine's voice through the door, snarling at whoever was outside the room.

Merlin bolted up. Every muscle twinged as if he'd been battered black and blue by Arthur out on the field, or perhaps like he'd fallen off a horse and barely avoided getting stomped on by it. His head swam. He shook it, which only made it worse, and finally he just ignored it and strode over to the door. When it swung open, it was to the sight of Gwaine looming over a knight twice his girth in muscle mass and the knight looking ready to pull out his sword. Gwaine didn't look far behind him.

Merlin burst through it all with the practice of someone used to such nonsense. He dealt with Arthur, after all, and if he walked in when Arthur was in a bad enough mood, the prince was liable to throw things at him without even looking up from his desk.

“Gwaine, I need to go see Gaius.”

It might not have been the smartest thing to say. Merlin had been alone in the room; there was no reason for him to need to see the physician unless he was in pain. And while Gwaine's brows furrowed at the news, the knights' brows rose. Merlin ignored that, too. He didn't have the inclination at the moment to worry about whether he had to watch his neck in the next few minutes. Gwaine could handle it. “Why?” Gwaine asked, then stopped and glared at the knight. He grabbed Merlin's arm and pulled him out of the room.

Merlin thought about the corpse of the strange creature, still lying on the floor. He thought about Arthur, racing after someone he didn't know, someone with magic who might be waiting for someone to come after him for what he'd just done to the prince.

He needed to find out why using his magic hurt him.

Thankfully, Gwaine didn't ask anything as he pulled Merlin away, didn't say anything as they made their way past knights and servants both, the knights either glaring or ignoring him, the servants casting wide-eyed or narrow glances his way, until finally they made it to Gaius'. Merlin hesitated outside the door, ensuring that the king wasn't inside before heading in.

He half expected the room to be empty, but there amongst the beakers and ground herbs was Gaius, looking from fire to valencia, finally dipping a small pinch into the mixture above the fire before turning to the door. He stopped measuring and hurried to Merlin's side. “Merlin!” The old man grabbed him into a hug. Merlin blinked for a moment before returning it, not certain why he was getting hugged in the first place. “I don't know what you did, but the guards are no longer whispering of your death. Something about helping Kay?”

Merlin frowned. “No, Kay helped me. He walked me back to Arthur's room when Gwaine wasn't there.”

But Gaius just waved Merlin's words aside. “Well, whatever it was, I'm glad for it.” He placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder and pulled him forward. “Now. Tell me what troubles you.”

“What makes you think something troubles me?” Gaius just lifted his brow. Merlin sighed. “Arthur got attacked. Some weird rat-reptile thing.” That eyebrow went just a little bit higher. Gwaine, still practically glued to Merlin's side, made an aggrieved sound, like not being there for the fight was a personal insult. The sound reminded Merlin of Gwaine's presence, and he sent the man a look. “Um...”

Gwaine scowled. “You are not sending me from the room.”

Merlin shifted from foot to foot. “It's just...” He'd already brought up magic, and though Gwaine had apparently shown no problem with Arthur going to a secluded altar to use magic to heal Merlin, the idea of outing himself... he grimaced. “I'm sorry, Gwaine. Could you please give us a few minutes?”

Gwaine sighed. Snarled. Grumbled. And finally said, “fine, then. Keep your secrets, Merlin.” He pointed a finger at him. “But only this once, and because it's for you and Arthur. Got it? And next time there's a fight, Arthur owes me an enemy.”

Merlin didn't bother to correct Gwaine's assumption that it was Arthur who'd fought the battle. “Thank you, Gwaine.” He put every ounce of sincerity, of gratitude, into the three words. Gwaine still looked troubled when he left.

“Well? It was obviously a magical creature. Did you get a good look at it?”

“Well, I was the one who got attacked, really, but it was in Arthur's room and it was meant for him.” Gaius made Merlin sit down at the bench, nearly right in front of the beaker, which was starting to bubble. Merlin recognized it as a remedy for headaches and turned the heat down before it could boil over. Gaius forced Merlin to take off his shirt, and the old physician poked and prodded him until finally Merlin said, “I wasn't hurt, Gaius. It didn't even touch me. But when I flung it away – when I used my magic, it _hurt_.”

“Of course it did,” Gaius said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Merlin frowned.

“It's never hurt before.”

Gaius stopped checking him over and leaned back. “Merlin.” Merlin knew that tone; that was the 'good grief, and he manages to breathe all on his own' tone. “Your magic saved your life by pulling you – and it – away from the natural world. From time itself. It will take time for it to acclimate to the world again, to be one with the earth and sea and sky. Until then, attempting to force its use will only harm you. Do you understand?”

Merlin thought he did. His magic worked because it melded with the world, with its elements and its properties. It wasn't quite one with the world again.

He frowned. “But Arthur's in danger _now_.”

Gaius huffed a little sigh, but he didn't seem surprised or even upset by Merlin's words. “Be that as it may, Merlin, we don't know what the repercussions might be if you continue to use your magic when it's not ready.” The old man gave Merlin a severe look. “I know very well you will do whatever you must. I simply ask that you only use it when absolutely necessary.”

Merlin nodded. He could agree to that. For now, Arthur's chores would all simply need to be done the hard way. That was fine; he'd gotten used to that these last few weeks, while every eye was on him and every hand rested on a sword.

His hand reached back to touch the dagger at the back of his shirt, the dagger he'd neglected to even think of. He hadn't thought to use it when he'd been attacked; he'd worked on instinct and used his magic. Would he do so again? Probably; it wasn't like he knew how to even use a dagger. But if he couldn't use his magic – if he had to go without it – then he would have to learn.

Merlin nodded. “All right.” He would focus on using his magic only when someone's life was in danger. Arthur, of course. He might try the dagger to protect himself, but he knew it wouldn't be enough to protect Arthur. “I have to get back to Arthur's room before he returns, or else he'll panic.”

Gaius' eyebrow lifted again, and this time Merlin blushed. He looked down. “It's not – it's just...”

Gaius sighed. “Merlin.” And Gaius placed one hand on Merlin's shoulder. “I knew long ago your affections for the prince.” Merlin flushed so hard he thought the red must have traveled to his feet. “And while I will not say I am not concerned, I will say I am proud.” That made no sense, and Merlin finally looked up again. “You love so strongly, my boy, sometimes I fear for your heart. But you and Arthur share something. Something more than love, or even destiny. You are perfect compliments to each other. Where he is weak, you are strong; where you stumble, he sustains. I half feared you two would dance around each other all your lives; never leaving the other's side, yet never admitting what it was you plainly felt.”

Merlin imagined, for an instant, what such a world would look like. It would be a happy one, he decided, if a bit empty. Arthur, he imagined, would be with Gwenivere – like he should be, a part of him thought, even as something hollow chewed at him at the thought. But himself? No one. He couldn't imagine anyone. He'd written off his chance for happiness, for escape, when he'd chosen Freya's killer over Freya. Nothing could ever be more important than Arthur. To him, there was nothing – no one – else.

Merlin pulled Gaius into a hug. “Thank you, Gaius.” They shared a smile as he pulled away, and then he left, looking pointedly at the beaker before going. Gaius huffed.

Gwaine turned to him, one brow of his own raised, his entire body practically vibrating with the desire to ask. Merlin couldn't stop grinning. “Good grief, Merlin, you look like a woman expecting.”

Merlin flushed. Of course Gwaine laughed.

“I take it something other than an attack was spoken of?”

Merlin cleared his throat. “A little,” he said, and Gwaine sighed.

“And about the attack?”

Merlin shook his head. “Gaius will try to figure out what the thing was, I'm sure, but that's not my main concern.”

No, his main concern was who had sent it into Arthur's room. He wished he'd been able to find the culprit, to at least be able to point Arthur in the right direction. He could be anywhere, everywhere, searching out a nameless, faceless person. In the marketplace crowd, the chance of Arthur tracking the person down was next to nothing. Even asking which women had gone to each individual shop Merlin had pointed out wouldn't do much of anything. There would be so many. Even trying to narrow it would leave too many. Unless the woman – if it even was a woman! – stood out, Arthur wouldn't catch her. And going out alone into such a populated place, where he could easily be attacked before he might even notice the person's presence...

Merlin took a deep breath. The urge to chase after Arthur was strong. Only knowing he would get as lost looking for his prince as Arthur would looking for the sorcerer kept him from going.

He traced his hand lightly along the wall as Gwaine led him back up to Arthur's room. The rough feel of the stone, the soft texture of the tapestries. Each step past a window churned the fresh air of grass and sunlight, beating out the dusty smell of an enclosed space. Merlin stopped by one and looked outside. The marketplace was just as hectic as he'd feared. Yet still, after a few moments, he managed to make out what he thought was Arthur's head; so maybe he wouldn't be so lost, after all. Perhaps he would always find his prince. The thought nearly sent him back, sent him outside, and despite the futility of it, he searched for the sorcerer.

Gwaine cleared his throat, and Merlin started moving again. A moment later, a small group of guards passed them. They glared at Merlin; he recognized each of them as ones who had threatened him several times before. Merlin sent Gwaine a grateful smile. If they'd seen him spacing out, they certainly would have tried to press some sort of advantage.

When they made it back to Arthur's room, finally, Merlin went straight over to the carcass and began to clean up while Gwaine guarded the entrance. He took the dirty water from the mopping he'd done (he still hadn't taken the time to toss it out; and Arthur said his laziness was a bad thing) and used it to clean up the blood-mucus from the wall and floor, finally dumping the creature's two body parts – and spilled viscera, blegh – into the bucket, as well. He couldn't toss the thing out of the window now. He would just have to wait for Arthur to come back before taking it down, disposing of it, and cleaning the bucket out.

He stood from finishing just moments before the door opened, and Merlin turned to greet Arthur as he strode inside. Gwaine came in with him, already asking what had happened and if Arthur thought there would be any more fighting soon.

“Almost certainly,” Arthur said, skipping the question of what had happened. Arthur looked Merlin up and down. Merlin could see the restraint he used, and wondered if Arthur was ready to make him strip to check him over again. “Merlin.”

Merlin pointed toward the bucket. “I cleaned it up as best I could, but I need to get rid of that. It's starting to stink up the place. Though I guess Gaius should see it first?”

Gwaine moved forward before Arthur could do more than turn his head slightly. “I'm on it.” Gwaine looked inside. “What the heck is that thing, anyway?”

Merlin shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Well, we'll see if your Gaius can figure it out,” Gwaine said, and carried the bucket to the door and out. Merlin turned to Arthur.

“Are you still in pain?” Arthur asked. “I take it from Gwaine's words that you went to see Gaius.”

Merlin nodded. “I know you said you wanted me to stay here, but I needed to know what was wrong.”

“And?” Arthur didn't seem angry about it, so that was good, at least. Arthur put his sword down, and Merlin came up to check Arthur the way Arthur had just checked him. He seemed unharmed. He also seemed slightly tense; as Merlin had expected, Arthur hadn't been able to find the sorcerer.

“He says my magic needs to recover from... freezing me in time.”

Arthur paused for a moment. His face contorted into an image of near-pain at the memories the words resurfaced. “How long?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don't know. I don't think it's ever been a problem before.” When Arthur looked up at that, Merlin clarified with a simple, “it's never happened before.”

Arthur looked nearly alarmed. Merlin shuffled on his feet. Arthur had never actually been told that Merlin was supposed to be one of the – if not _the_ – most powerful sorcerers of all time. Maybe hearing a hint of that now might scare him off, might turn him back to being leery of Merlin's powers.

“You mean to say that there may be consequences we don't know about?” Arthur asked, and Merlin was left stunned. Again, Arthur chose to worry, not about Merlin's abilities, but about Merlin himself. Merlin shivered at the jolt of happiness that burst inside of him.

“Probably not? I think it'll heal. There's no reason for it not to.” And if it didn't, Merlin would just learn to deal with it. He would continue using his magic in any case, because he needed to protect Arthur. That was what mattered most. So Merlin pasted on a smile and looked toward the door. “Do you want me to get you some food? I don't know if you ate this morning, but I haven't.”

Arthur moved straight to the door and pulled it open, leaning his head outside. “You! Guard. Get a servant to bring two meals here.”

Merlin didn't argue, since Arthur had at least demanded two meals. He would be eating, then, as well. Merlin waited until the door was closed before continuing. “Whoever the sorcerer was, they'll try again, Arthur.”

“I know.” Yet Arthur looked completely unconcerned as he moved to the desk and the mountain of paperwork. To be fair, Arthur always looked unconcerned when it came to threats on his life. Possibly because he got so many of them. “I wasn't able to find anyone,” he said as he sat, even though it was clear Merlin already knew that. “But the tailor mentioned someone calling herself a traveler. She said the woman wanted to know what had been going on in the kingdom while she'd been away. They'd gossiped.”

Merlin nodded. “Did she say what about?”

Arthur settled into his chair and glared down at the pile. “The country. The drought and famine. How I was nearly poisoned. The tournaments. The dragon.” Arthur's gaze turned to Merlin. “You.”

Merlin blinked. “Me?”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin! You. Everyone knows now that I named you my consort, don't they?”

Merlin blushed all over again, but he nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and huffed. “Honestly, Merlin! Sometimes I just don't know what to do with you.” Arthur rubbed his temple and sat back in his chair. “I got a description from the tailor, but it's not that helpful. The woman was wearing a cloak. Blond hair. Pretty. Tall. Save the tall part, he couls be speaking of _Sophia_ , for gods' sakes.”

Sophia, Merlin thought, ready to laugh at Arthur's words. Then he paled. That sounded like a certain sorceress he knew.

Arthur caught the look and sat forward. “You know who it is.”

Merlin licked his lips. “I have an idea.”

Arthur scowled and stood. “Who? From where? Tell me everything.”

Merlin shook his head. “Think, Arthur. You know her, too. You fought her.”

Arthur blinked. Paled. He nearly fell back into his chair. “Morgause.”

 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Arthur and Merlin attempt to straighten out their future, the world conspires to end it altogether.

Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

Part II

 

 

Arthur went into a whirlwind frenzy of activity the rest of that day and into the next. The only breaks he took from his search for the sorceress were when he slept and ate – mostly on Merlin's orders – and when he trained his men, taking care, Merlin saw, to beat to hell those who threatened Merlin. Merlin didn't know that it won either of them any favors until Arthur said, at the end of the session, “those who don't trust my judgment, leave my side. I'll not have such people on the battlefield with me.”

Merlin cringed, waiting for every man to turn and glare at him – the glare that said 'we know this isn't him, but actually you'. He did get some of them; Jence, in particular, looked ready to turn his sword on Merlin. But most actually looked chagrined. A couple even seemed to be nodding approvingly. Among those few stood Kay.

And those who glared at Merlin were ordered by Arthur in the next instant to sentry duty, where they would remain “for the foreseeable future.”

And while Arthur went on an absolute rampage the next day, demanding everyone to search the town, the surrounding forest, to search and see if they could find the woman who had stolen – in Arthur's eyes – his sister, Merlin hardly got any glares from the guards. It made him almost giddy at the same time he felt guilty. They were trusting that Merlin wasn't actually magic, and all the while he really was.

Merlin went to see Gaius. He went to see Gwen, who looked about as harried as Arthur did. And finally he went back to Arthur's chambers, dusted and straightened and even sewed a shirt Arthur had been wearing to a practice and had ripped on the armor. He remade the bed, cleaned the windows, and got Arthur's meal. He even cleaned the headboard and footboard of the bed. His mind raced, chasing around itself, nipping at him. He could feel its teeth whenever he thought of Morgause and Morgana. He had to tell Arthur. He knew he had to tell Arthur. And if he told Arthur about Morgana and Morgause, then he would have to tell Arthur everything. Every sordid detail. Including...

He'd just barely gotten back Arthur's regard, and he was about to lose it again, this time potentially for good. No matter what, Arthur would not forgive someone poisoning his sister. He could never forgive that.

Arthur, when he arrived, took one step into the room and stopped still. Merlin watched him take in the clean floor, the gleaming windows and bed, and slowly turn those widening eyes on Merlin. “Are you ill?” he asked, and if his gut hadn't been about to spill out his breakfast, Merlin might have laughed at just how serious Arthur sounded as he asked.

Instead he gulped, took a deep breath, and said, “I... need to talk to you. About Morgause.”

Arthur lifted his chin. “Good.” Merlin startled at that, and Arthur strode up to the table, twisted one of the chairs around so it faced Merlin, and sat in it as if it were a throne. “There's more to the story than I know, of course. I suppose there's more to everything that's happened than I know. So tell me. Why did 'blond, pretty, and tall' mean something to you immediately, when it didn't even to me?”

Merlin shivered. “I suppose because I was waiting for it.”

Arthur frowned. “You mean you were expecting her to return.”

Merlin nodded. Shrugged. “I think you were, too.”

Arthur sat silent for a moment. “Maybe. But she's been gone too long. She should have come back again by now if she wanted to finish us off. After the dragon...” Arthur waved it away. “Well. I suppose... I might have been distracted.” He scowled. “It's even worse now, Merlin. If it's Morgause, and she's found out about you...”

Merlin smiled. “We can figure it out, Arthur,” he said, daring to put the two of them as a team. He smiled quivered. “Or, at least... know that no matter what, I will do whatever you ask of me. And I will always protect you. Even if...”

Arthur gripped the handles of the chair. “Tell me, Merlin,” he said, and though his voice dropped to a murmur, there was little else there but the order. “Tell me what it is you're hiding from me this time.”

Merlin flushed, then paled almost white. “It's not – it's not like...” It was exactly like that. “Arthur, Morgana has magic.”

Before Arthur could do more than widen his eyes and start to sputter, Merlin raised his hand. “When the Knights of Medir attacked, I helped her with the excuse about the medicine because I was helping hide her secret. She thought the reason she was unaffected by the sleeping spell was because she had magic. But _I_ have magic, Arthur.”

Arthur processed the knowledge of Morgana's magic for a second more before comprehension dawned in those ocean-blue eyes. “It was something else.”

“The Knights needed to be linked to someone to move around. To live again. That someone wouldn't be killed by them, though they would kill anyone else. He or she also wouldn't be affected by the spells.”

Arthur frowned. “That makes no sense. She was genuinely terrified, Merlin; she had nothing to do with any of it. And this has nothing to do with Morgause.”

Merlin cleared his throat. He looked away, toward the window, though from where he stood all he could see was the sky. Storm clouds seemed to be gathering. “She'd met with Morgause, Arthur. Agreed to help her. Morgause linked the Knights to her.” He swallowed hard, remembering that day. He saw Arthur, out of the corner of his eye, sit back, nearly slump in his seat. Saw him cover his mouth with his hand and shake his head slightly, disbelieving. Needing to disbelieve. “She didn't know. But still. You were in danger. About to die. I learned that the only way to stop the Knights was to – to kill the living person they were severed to.”

Arthur jerked in his seat, but stopped himself.

“I had to make a choice,” Merlin said. He fought to get rid of the strain in his voice; Arthur's reaction had to be based on what Merlin said, not how wretched he sounded as he recounted his sins. “As to who I was willing to lose.” He shivered, remembering the way Morgana had looked at him. The betrayal. “It's never been a choice,” he whispered.

“What did you do?” Arthur asked, his voice equally low. Merlin couldn't tell if it was detachment or numbness that kept emotion from leaking out.

“I poisoned her,” he said.

Arthur stood. It was sudden, even though Merlin had thought to expect it. He watched Arthur, ready for him to grab his sword, to put his hands around Merlin's neck. Instead he turned toward the door, hand still over his mouth. His entire frame was pinched, taut. He turned back. “You poisoned her?”

Merlin made sure he kept himself expressionless. “And then bartered her life with Morgause. I told Morgause I would tell her what poison I used if she called off the Knights.”

Arthur's hand trembled as he lowered it to his side. “Did she accept?”

Arthur thought his sister was dead. That Merlin had killed her. “She did,” he said. “I... I was pretty certain she would. But if she didn't... I – I'm responsible for the decision I made. I as good as...” The words choked on his tongue. He fought once more for control. “She agreed. The Knights fell, and she took Morgana and fled.”

This time when Arthur covered his mouth, he turned away. Merlin was faced with that broad back. “Do you think Morgana has joined her?”

Merlin shivered. “I hope not.”

Arthur turned on him. “Morgana had magic? And you knew? How?”

Merlin looked down. “I recognized it in her. The fire in her room. The dreams. I recognized it because...”

“Because you have magic, too.” Arthur stared at him.

Merlin nodded. “I tried to help her. I don't think I did. I kept my magic hidden from her, even though I knew about hers. I think she thought she was all alone. And then – I mean, she'd had problems with Uther before, but it got worse; then she met Morgause and...”

Merlin trailed off when Arthur held up his other hand. “'Problems with Uther'?”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “She... might have helped some people try to kill him once.” Arthur staggered back. Merlin took an instinctive step forward, then stopped, knowing he shouldn't touch Arthur when he didn't even know if Arthur was okay with him just then. He spoke quickly. “She changed her mind at the last second. But she seemed to regret that decision later.”

Arthur shook his head. “This can't – how could I not see it?”

Merlin ducked his head. “I was glad you didn't see it. I didn't want you to see it.”

Merlin sneaked a glance up. Arthur ran a hand through his hair. Turned around. Turned back. Paced. Snarled. Slammed one hand on the table. Walked to the window and stared down on Camelot. “What else don't I know?”

Arthur wasn't acting violently toward him. Merlin didn't know whether to press the advantage or remind Arthur of his transgressions. “I'm telling you because I don't want you getting hurt,” he began.

Arthur snorted. “So not because you want to be fully honest with me.”

“I do want to,” Merlin said without hesitation. “But I'm scared to. Sometimes the decisions I make – I hate them, and I hate myself for making them. I hate how far I'll go to protect you. I hate what it makes me become sometimes.”

Arthur turned to him, a haunted look in his eyes. “I've seen some of those changes in you. I thought it was because of the deaths you's seen. The losses you'd suffered. Will. Lancelot. Watching people die.” Merlin saw, for the first time in life, Arthur open his mouth to speak and hesitate. “Merlin,” he said slowly, “what other things have you done to protect me?”

Merlin cleared his throat. “I've killed. I've hurt loved ones, and watched loved ones die by your hand.” Arthur winced heavily at that. “I've lied. I've spied on people. I've let monsters loose on the world. On Camelot.” Merlin fought against tears. “I've hurt my mother.”

Arthur jerked at that. Merlin shook his head. “I don't think there's a limit to what I would do for you.”

Merlin didn't bother talking to Arthur, or even looking at him, after that. He just moved to the window Arthur always looked out of and stared down on what Arthur always stared down on. Camelot. His people. Reminding himself of his responsibilities, or taking a moment to enjoy the fruits of his labor? Merlin often wondered just what Arthur saw when he looked down from his window at the world. Who caught his eye? What shops did he look at? Which roads did his eyes trail? How often did he look beyond Camelot's walls, toward the forests, where he ran free for a time before shackling himself once more to his crown?

He listened as Arthur moved around the room and wondered dully how much of Arthur's trust he'd lost. Perhaps Arthur was just in shock. The rage might come later. Or maybe there would be more questions. Demands. Allegations? Did Arthur know the monster Merlin spoke of? Did he guess? Or did he think Merlin was being metaphorical, perhaps talking about men like Aredian who had come looking for him?

He told himself it didn't matter. Arthur had to be ready from an assault from someone he trusted. And Morgause had greater power than Arthur realized – Merlin thought, just maybe, Morgause might have used the time to win Morgana's heart completely. And if she did, then the Morgana who came home would not be the Morgana they'd known. And if she wasn't? What would Merlin be forced to do this time?

Finally Merlin felt Arthur at his back, breathing down on him. He lifted his head and looked at his prince. His king. Arthur's eyes were haunted still, the blue nearly monochrome, his skin pale and slightly glassy. Merlin shrank back slightly from his warmth. “Arthur.” He wanted to touch. He didn't dare.

“Merlin. Tell me one thing.”

Merlin tried to take a deep breath and found that he couldn't. The air trembled in his chest and stuttered to a halt. “Anything.”

Arthur winced at that, but he continued nonetheless. “You cared about Morgana. You care about your mother. Gaius. Gwen. Would you kill them all to save me?”

Merlin shuddered. The very thought of it – of using his magic on all of them. Watching Morgana die. Watching his mother's eyes film over. Watching Gaius's chest still, seeing Gwen's blood spill on the ground. Then he imagined Arthur's blood, Arthur's still form, Arthur's dead eyes. Arthur's death. “Gods. I... I think so.” And he hunched into himself, because it shouldn't be true. And yet it was.

“Merlin.” Arthur's voice was more an exhalation of breath. He didn't touch Merlin, even as he shrank into himself.

“If there was any other way, I would take it,” Merlin said. “To save them, and to save you. Anything else. But if there was nothing. If I had to make a choice.” His voice failed him, and he shook his head. The world got blurry, and he thought he might be dizzy from not breathing. But no, horribly enough, even someone like him, someone willing to murder his own mother just to save the man he loved, could keep on breathing. It was because he was crying. This would ruin Arthur's impartiality, he thought, nearly hysterical with it. “It shouldn't be an issue,” he said. “My mother wouldn't – and Gaius wouldn't, and Gwen would never.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I thought the same of Morgana, just a moment ago.”

Merlin teared up. “No. Morgana was never after you. She was worried about you, too. She was.”

Arthur finally reached out and pulled Merlin to him, one tight hand around the back of Merlin's head, until Merlin was bent into Arthur's arms in an awkward angle and his chin was on Merlin's head. “I want to believe the same. She's my sister in all but blood.” Arthur seemed to breathe in Merlin's scent. “And yet I can't hate you. You saved my life. My father's life. And you bargained for hers. You didn't just let her die.”

Merlin shuddered. Arthur's words snapped something in him, and he leaned on Arthur, wrapped his arms around that chest and curled himself as tight as he could into Arthur's warmth. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Even though you don't want to hear it again, it's true. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Arthur.”

For Arthur's credit, he didn't tell Merlin to shut up, or shove Merlin away, or even reprimand him for being a girl. He just curled his own arms around Merlin's back and held him. And when Merlin finally stopped crying, Arthur gathered Merlin up and shuffled him into bed, even though it was the middle of the day, and ordered the guards to leave the food and leave him alone until evening.

And then Arthur spooned up behind Merlin, as he had the last few nights, and he placed his hand over Merlin's heart. Merlin fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

When he woke, he was dizzy and lightheaded and his nose and eyes were puffed up like balloons. Thankfully, Arthur, now sitting at his desk, didn't say a thing when Merlin sat up. He just looked him over for a moment. “I want to thank you,” Arthur said. Merlin gave him a wide-eyed stare. “For telling me that. I know it couldn't have been easy, with how I reacted before.” Before, the Before that was always capitalized with them. The Before when Arthur had just learned of Merlin's magic and reacted horribly.

The words had a stilted air to them, which meant Arthur had practiced them in his mind while Merlin had slept unaware. Merlin cut in. “If Morgause came here, she must have been looking for something. Are you sure those were the only things she and the shopkeeper had spoken about?”

Arthur nodded. “The shopkeeper hadn't thought anything strange of the encounter until I came up looking for someone suspicious. She couldn't remember all they'd spoken about; they'd apparently conversed for a while.”

The while it might have taken for someone to return to Arthur's chambers and get attacked, or perhaps the while for someone else to come to the room while Merlin checked for other creatures. “So she might have very well heard what she needed to.”

“I'm more concerned with her hearing what she _didn't_ need to.” And Arthur stood from his desk. Merlin was ready for him to pace or move to the window, but instead Arthur came to the bed and leaned over it until his face was a foot away from Merlin's. “She heard about you, Merlin. About _us_.” The word sent shivers down Merlin's spine. Arthur didn't seem unaffected, either. “If she bargained my life for Morgana's, it means she cares about her. She'll want revenge on you for what you did to her.” They both winced at the reminder. “And she'll of course want to get at me. I am a Pendragon.”

Merlin made a startled noise at the realization. “You mean she'll start targeting me.”

Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course she will,  _Mer_ lin! Do try to use that brain of yours.”

Merlin pulled a face. “But that could work for us.” Arthur looked at him as if he were mad. “We could find out what's happened to Morgana. Or if I followed her–”

“Absolutely not!” Arthur snapped.

“ _If I followed her_ ,” Merlin said, talking over Arthur's complaints, “then I could find out where Morgana is, if she'd being held against her will or – or not.”

Arthur winced again. Merlin stopped talking. Arthur still thought of Morgana as Morgana. He hadn't seen the things Merlin had seen, the hatred that had blazed in her from time to time. To him, she was still the forthright, confident woman Uther had taken in when her father had died. And to Merlin, too, she was a friend. Merlin didn't want to think ill of her any more than Arthur did. But Merlin had had to face betrayal before, from a whole bunch of magic users that he'd once thought could be his friend. It wasn't any easier, but it was more expected.

Merlin sat at Arthur's table and leaned his head down. Arthur was struggling, and there was nothing he could do about it. He expected rage, fury, condemnation. Accusations, at the very least. But Arthur had yet to throw any his way. Why? Arthur had been so furious before. Merlin's near-death couldn't have just made that go away. So why was he so understanding?

“No matter what,” Arthur said, “you are not to take such risks.”

Merlin looked up. Arthur was staring down at him, that look on his face when he was being serious, giving his men orders. Merlin blinked. “But it would help you.”

“Help me? To know you were out somewhere with a sorceress, alone, taking chances for my sake? My knights fight with me. At my side. They don't go off alone. We work together as a team.” Arthur strode to the table and stood beside Merlin. “Do not leave my side.”

Merlin blinked again. Something in his chest, small and fragile as a butterfly, fluttered. “I won't,” he breathed. He thought he just might understand. Arthur kept his men with him, where he could watch over them. Protect them with his own sword. Just as Merlin didn't want Arthur going off into danger alone, just as Merlin needed to know his magic would reach Arthur if it had to. Merlin smiled. “I won't, Arthur. I promise.”

Arthur released a gust of breath. “Good.”

It was amazing. Arthur wanted Merlin near. He wanted to protect Merlin. The very thought of it nearly made Merlin giddy. Could they actually be partners in all this? Could Merlin truly be treated as something more than a fool by the man he most wanted to respect him? He'd always wanted Arthur to see him for what he truly was. What he could really do. As a man worthy of Arthur's regard. Could it finally be happening? Merlin felt his eyes prick with tears and quickly blinked them away. It was all more than he'd dared hope. More than he'd dreamed.

Merlin had to leave then, to help Gaius with his potions, but Arthur didn't let him go without saying, “and Merlin? I'll need you back here tomorrow.  _Early_ . And not on time 'early'. Earlier than that.”

Merlin didn't know what it was about, and Arthur refused to say anything more on the subject. It made the fluttering Merlin had just felt twist into something more akin to lead. Arthur had work to get done that night, and for the first time in several days, Merlin was sent to sleep in his room above Gaius' workplace. It left Merlin even more uneasy. Perhaps he'd been wrong. Maybe Arthur was merely holding back his feelings. Maybe he simply didn't want Merlin to fear his reactions anymore. Maybe he just didn't want to hurt Merlin. Out of what? Pity? Arthur never really had time for that emotion. Compassion? If Arthur was angry, there was no room in him for that. Guilt?

Yes. That, Arthur carried with him everywhere.

Or maybe a sense of – what? Obligation? Merlin had, after all, saved Arthur's life. And Arthur now had proof – not only had Merlin saved him and Uther when Uther had found out, not only had Merlin gone to great lengths to protect Arthur from Liam and Forrest, he had also unwittingly shown Arthur that he'd saved him even when unconscious and dying from enchanted poison. If it wasn't guilt that stayed Arthur's hand – Arthur's emotions – it would be that. Arthur always repaid his debts.

Merlin slept little that night.

The only good thing about getting a sleepless night was being able to get up as early as Arthur wanted and not being even slightly late. He kept yawning like a madman as he made his way straight on back to Arthur's chamber – he'd spent more time in that room than anywhere else in the world, including, he thought, the very home he grew up in; at least there he went outside more often – but otherwise he was as groomed as he ever got for Arthur. Which was to say, not at all; he had clothes on and he'd combed his fingers through his hair and that, he thought, was as good as it was going to get. He'd washed himself some time last night, with the water he would have used that morning. He'd hoped it would snap him into sleepiness. It had not.

He pushed open the door and stopped. While he'd almost expected Arthur up; whenever Arthur ordered Merlin to arrive by a certain time, he could almost always be met with Arthur standing by the window, dressed and angry with Merlin because he was almost certainly late. This time, however, not only was Arthur standing dressed and ready, he was standing less than a foot from Gwen, speaking lowly into her ear, one hand on her shoulder. He looked up as the door opened, those blue eyes catching on Merlin. Merlin slowly closed the door behind him, that leaden something curling and writhing within him. As usual, Arthur and Gwen were beautiful together; dark and light, bright and atramentous, opposites that showed off one another's brilliance. And behind the looks were matching minds, kindness where there was steel, cleverness where there was compassion.

Merlin stood there looking at the two of them and thought that Arthur should not have picked him.

“ _Mer_ lin. I understand that your brain isn't fully functioning even at the best of times, but perhaps you could try to manage more than just standing there like a dying fish?”

Merlin jerked. “Oh! Huh? Oh, yeah.” He came further into the room and spied the curtains, once more drawn. He wondered how the kingdom – how  _Uther_ – interpreted these hours, where Arthur stood alone with Merlin in his room with the windows pulled tight to prevent eavesdropping. Well. Merlin could guess.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Gwen kept her head down; Merlin thought he heard her sniffle. He tensed. What had happened? Had Arthur spoken more to her about – had she come to speak with Arthur about their relationship? Had Merlin interrupted?

With everything that had happened, with the way Arthur had reacted, even Arthur's assurance that he'd never stopped caring and hadn't planned for something short-term couldn't hold up. Arthur didn't really know what he was getting himself into with Merlin. And after last night's epiphanies, Merlin wouldn't be surprised if Arthur decided it was all too much, that being with Merlin carried too heavy a cost. And if Arthur was to be with anyone, it would be best for both him and Gwen, along with the entire kingdom, Merlin was certain of it, for it to be Gwen. No one else would do.

He took a step back, thinking to perhaps give them some privacy, but Arthur made an annoyed sound and moved forward, faster than Merlin had been expecting, and pulled him right back. Merlin found himself standing right next to Gwen and gave her a guardedly concerned look. She didn't meet his gaze. “What's going on?” he asked, looking from one to the other and back. “Should I leave? I didn't mean to interrupt anything.”

“Merlin, if you don't mean to interrupt things, then why do you insist on entering a room without knocking?” Merlin opened his mouth to offer to leave again, but Arthur beat him with a quick, “you didn't, however. I merely told Gwen about Morgana.”

Merlin tensed all over again. “Gwen. I'm sorry–”

“Don't, Merlin, I understand,” she said, her answer coming so fast the words nearly jumbled together. Her voice was a bit wobbly. She really was crying, then. Over what? Just what had Arthur told her? Morgana's potential treachery? What Merlin had done? He looked to Arthur. Somehow, Arthur, emotionally oblivious Arthur, read the panicked look on Merlin's face and minutely shook his head. Merlin nearly sighed in relief. So Arthur hadn't told Gwen that Merlin had poisoned her. Somehow, Merlin couldn't stand to see the censure in Gwen's eyes the way he was certain Arthur should have felt. Did feel? Arthur was too moral to not hate Merlin for what he'd done.

The weight of it all brought that ball of lead back to his attention, but Arthur rode right over it. “Merlin. I brought you and Gwen here today for something else.” And the feeling multiplied. Merlin fought against it. This was what he'd known would come. If Arthur was willing to work through Merlin having magic, then he could handle being demoted to friend. Maybe they could be confidantes. Partners? One day, maybe, if Arthur could get over what Merlin had done.

“Gwen and I have spoken about this a bit,” Arthur said. “Normally, I would bring it up with you first, and alone. But I know very well what you would say.” It was getting worse and worse, harder and harder, and Merlin had to fight not to show it. “So we're doing it like this. Sit down, Merlin. Gwen, please.” And Arthur escorted Gwen to her seat at the table – where Arthur usually sat. Merlin nearly sat on the floor, right where he stood. It was with shaky legs that he went and sat in the other chair. Arthur remained standing. “Now.”

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. He'd known telling Arthur of one of his greatest sins would have consequences. He'd also known they would be worth it, if Arthur was ready for the worst. And he couldn't keep such things secret; he couldn't go out of his way to hide it, or let Arthur run into a situation without all the information he needed – not anymore. Not without losing the last of Arthur's trust. He'd known it. And yet still he was unprepared for it. Could he ever be prepared for it?

Gwen cast him a quick look, then stopped and frowned. Merlin tried on a smile. By the further pulling of her brows, Merlin guessed he hadn't quite gotten it.

“Merlin. Well.” Arthur looked down, then away, and put his hands behind his back. “We already spoke on that.”

Merlin's heart constricted. He cleared his throat and studied the grains of the table. Because it was the prince's table, the wood was sandpapered to perfection and polished to a high shine. It was completely different than Gaius'. With his, you had to be careful sometimes not to get a splinter while you ate.

“But I still...” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gwen. Though I know I cannot be what you want me to be, I still cannot help but see you as queen.”

Gwen gasped. Merlin closed his eyes.

“Arthur,” Gwen said, and Merlin knew she was watching him simply by the tone of her voice.

“No, Guinevere. Let me finish.” Merlin heard Arthur take a steadying breath. He only heard it because Arthur stood by Merlin's side, just behind him. “When I see myself on the throne, I see two things: Merlin, standing by my side.” The small bit of warmth at that was beaten down by Arthur's next words, “and you, on the throne beside mine.”

“Arthur–”

“Let me make this clear,” he said, cutting her off once more. Merlin imagined Arthur's hand up in that 'halt' position it sometimes took. “I love Merlin.” Merlin's heart trembled. It was wonderful, and it hurt. Arthur had never spoken such words before. Merlin wondered if he only could now because the door was closed and the windows covered. “And I will only ever love him. I never believed it, might never have believed it. I might have denied it until the end of time. He is a man, and my servant, and I cannot. But I do. And ignoring that would be tantamount to poisoning myself.”

Merlin opened his eyes, no longer certain what was happening. Gwen looked stunned. Merlin turned enough to see that Arthur looked stunned, too, and perhaps a bit dizzy. “And I cannot marry more than one person. Even if I cannot ever marry Merlin in the conventional way, I will still be, for all intents and purposes, wed to him. And I will not marry another.”

Merlin's eyes widened. His jaw dropped.

Gwen's brows rose. Then they furrowed and she frowned. “Wait, Arthur. What does this – how does that work, then?”

Merlin looked back at Arthur, still reeling from what the man had said. Marry him? Wed? Arthur looked at him and rolled his eyes. “Really,  _Mer_ lin! You yourself heard me call you my consort. You do know what that word means, don't you?”

Merlin gaped. He started to shake his head and stopped, because he did indeed know the meaning of the word. Yet he didn't understand. “I thought – but what about what I – what I told you?”

Arthur frowned, his usual reaction to confusion. Then his eyes cleared and he just glared. The glare stopped an instant later, and there was the emotion Merlin had thought Arthur had been feeling since Merlin had told him what he'd done – guilt. “Merlin, honestly!” he said, the guilt destroying any attempt at frivolity. “We'll speak on it later,” he said after another pause, his voice much more solemn this time. Gwen looked back and forth between them for a time before suddenly reaching out and grabbing one of Merlin's hands. She gave him a small smile.

“Let me make this clear,” Arthur said. “Merlin will always come first to me, Gwen. I told you that before, and you seemed to understand.” Gwen's lip didn't even tremble as she nodded; she seemed to be reading something in Merlin, however, and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. Merlin carefully squeezed back. “But you, Gwen, are kind, and wise, and you love Camelot just as much as I. As much as Merlin.” Arthur sent Merlin a glance, and while there was still guilt there, suddenly Merlin could see pride, as well. Despite himself, he started to hope. “I want you to have the power to help choose its future. I want there to be a queen like you. Merlin might never be able to hold such a title, as there is only one king. One man on a throne.”

Merlin looked down. “Arthur. I told you before. I'm happy to be your servant.”

Arthur huffed. “Shut up, Merlin. I'm not done talking yet.”

Merlin managed to roll his eyes. “Of course, sire.”

Merlin thought Arthur might have smirked. “Good. Now.” Arthur pulled the chair from his desk to the head of the table. Almost, Merlin made fun of that. But it kept Arthur equally between Gwen and Merlin, and Merlin thought that had actually been his plan, so he kept quiet. “Guinevere.” Gwen turned from Merlin to Arthur. “I don't want to force you into anything. And if you accept, you will be held to nothing. You will be queen to this country, but you will hold no obligation to me. There's nothing in any law that actually demands the king and queen be married. I checked. It's just assumed.”

Merlin and Gwen both blinked.

Arthur sent Merlin a look. “Normally, Merlin,” Arthur said, “I would have spoken with you about this first. But I've learned enough about your habits to know you would have simply argued for me to marry her.”

Merlin blushed. “It would be easier for you,” Merlin said. “This plan of yours–”

“ _And that's why_ ,” Arthur said, cutting Merlin off, “I didn't tell you. This isn't up for debate, Merlin. You and I are a done deal.” And Arthur glared at him. “The only thing that could ever call it off is you saying you don't want to be with me. Is this the case?”

Merlin gave Arthur an appalled stare.

“That's what I thought.” This time Arthur was definitely smirking. “But while it would bring me great pleasure – and entertainment – to put you on a throne–” Merlin made a face “– the law clearly states that there shall only ever be one king. I can change some things when I am king. I can make a commoner my queen, for instance, and a man my king consort. But there could be serious repercussions for a kingdom with two kings.” Arthur raked a hand through his hair. His body tensed as if to stand, but he stayed where he was and leaned his arms on the table. “I've thought this through as much as I can. Two kings and no queen might be accepted by some, but others – specifically other kingdoms – might call it a division of our land, or an attempt to reconcile greater power. Others may try to rally a force against me in your name, whether you accept such a rebellion or not. The fact that you're like them – a commoner, a – a man of your limited skills.” Merlin made another face, but he understood where Arthur was going – _a sorcerer._ One even spoken of in legends. All it would take was that knowledge to bring every magic user with a grudge against the Pendragons together in a staged attack on Arthur's throne.

And then, very slowly, it hit Merlin that Arthur had accepted, somewhere along the line, Merlin's feelings for him. Arthur knew Merlin loved him. Arthur understood Merlin would do anything for him, that, for Merlin, nothing and no one came before Arthur. And with that knowledge, Arthur had moved forward with his plans. He'd said Merlin and him were a done deal.

A done deal. Nothing would separate them. The only thing that would was a loss of feeling on  _Merlin's_ side. Meaning, of course, that there was not – nor did Arthur believe there ever would be – a change in his own affections. Merlin sat back, slack at the realization. Gwen squeezed his fingers again, but now hers were trembling. Merlin focused on her. She was pale, it seemed. Shaking. Her eyes seemed ready to pop out of her skull. Quickly Merlin squeezed her hand again, and he leaned forward. This time, it was he who sent the reassuring smile to her.

“Every time I see Gwen, I see a queen,” Arthur said. It was Gwen's turn for the wide-eyed stare. “She's strong, and brave. She spoke her mind to me the way only one other person ever dared speak his mind.” Arthur sent another soft look Merlin's way, and Merlin's brain melted out his ears. “She's kind, wise, and loyal.” Arthur's gaze turned to her. “You would be perfect for Camelot. But understand that you are under no obligation. You do not need to agree. And as I said, we would never marry. You are free to marry yourself, though it would need to be made clear that your husband would never have a right to the throne.”

Gwen made a small noise.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur said. “But if we gave your husband a right to the throne, there would be an attempt to bring him to the throne as surely as there would for Merlin.”

Gwen shook her head. “No. I mean,” she said quickly, seeing Arthur nod in capitulation, “no, that's not what I meant. It's just – why me? I mean, Merlin...” She looked to him, but Merlin just smiled.

“I meant it,” he said. “I'm happy just being by his side.”

Gwen looked from one of them to the other. She cleared her throat. “Why me?” she asked again.

Arthur smiled. “It could be no one else, Guinevere.”

Merlin beamed at him. Arthur caught the look and quickly looked away. Merlin thought he could see a small smile on those lips. “Arthur,” Gwen said. Merlin could hear a small plethora of emotions in that one word.

“This isn't something you should jump into,” Arthur said. “I'm sure you'll have questions.” He stood. “I don't want an answer today. Or even anytime soon. Ask whatever you need. I just needed to tell you, and to let Merlin know, as well. I didn't want to leave him in the dark, even though talking to him first would have been a complete waste of patience.”

Merlin sent Arthur a mock glare, but he was too hopeful and happy for anything more. Arthur kept his eyes carefully off of Merlin. “Is there anything you wish to ask me now?”

Gwen shook her head, her eyes nearly round as dinner plates.

“All that I ask is that you keep silent on this matter, at least for now. My father would certainly not approve.”

Gwen's brows lowered. She looked from Merlin to Arthur and back. “The king,” she said slowly, “seems to have a problem with Merlin.”

Arthur's lips thinned. “Yes.”

“Is it because you're... together?”

“Among other things,” Arthur said. “Gwen. Can I count on you to keep your silence?”

“Of course, Arthur.” And though she looked stunned enough to stumble as she stood, she was steady enough with one hand on the table. Merlin got up to help her, but she was already making her way to the door. She walked like a queen, Merlin mused, all graceful lines and sure feet, even with such news as Arthur's most likely rattling her brain. Arthur went to the door, as well, and as he opened the door for her, Merlin remembered that she'd also been taught of Morgana's possible betrayal. He understood what it was like to carry too much information too quickly on his shoulders, and he didn't envy it of her. He didn't know how to help her out, however. The proposal Arthur offered was one Merlin should certainly stay out of; his input couldn't be used to help Gwen decide. It was her future, for her to decide, and it wasn't a small responsibility.

Merlin waited as Arthur gave Gwen his farewells and closed the door behind her. He didn't even blink as Arthur locked the door behind him. Merlin had come to Arthur's room without Gwaine by his side (the man was probably dealing with a hangover this early in the morning), so of course Arthur wouldn't want him going anywhere. And apparently they still had even more talking to do. Merlin felt like they'd had more serious discussions in the past two months than they had the previous two years of knowing one another.

When Arthur turned, it was to see Merlin making the bed. He moved over to the table and transferred the desk chair back where it belonged. Merlin watched Arthur as he fluffed the pillows. More often than not, Merlin found himself looking at Arthur's heart rather than his body; he found Arthur's love for his people, for his kingdom, even more beautiful than the way his hips moved when he walked. His loyalty was more precious than his position, his bravery hotter than his naked chest, each muscle clearly defined, turning his pectorals and abdomen into hills and valleys.

But then sometimes his looks became everything, more important than anything else in Merlin's world. When, for instance, his expression on Merlin was just like it was now: bright, soft, almost effusive; that weighty stare centered solely on Merlin, as if what he next did or said was the most important moment in the land. A hunter, a predator, a king, a man. Arthur could look like ten different kinds of leaders in an instant. And when such a man focused all his attention on Merlin, what else could he do but be drawn to him? Merlin swore there was no other like Arthur in the world.

Once Merlin finished the bed, he dared to sit down once more at the table. Arthur didn't reprimand him for sitting when he still stood. He didn't even seem to care. “Merlin, I already told you how I felt. Do you not believe me?”

Merlin shook his head. “No. I believe you.”

Arthur rubbed his temple and, finally, opened one of the curtains. The light spilled over his hair, his face, and once again, Merlin thought of avenging angels and sun gods. “Then why did you doubt me?”

“I didn't. Not like that. I know now that you care for me.” Merlin looked down and twiddled his thumbs. Lying with Arthur most nights had made it difficult to ignore his rising desire for him, and stupidly, he'd been too busy worrying last night to take care of his growing needs. Looking at Arthur like that was only making it worse. “But even if you care about me, it may be a bit too much. Not just the...” He hesitated, now that one of the curtains was open. “The magic,” he said, his voice quieter despite how he tried to make it normal. “As you said. I'm a man, and a commoner. Your servant.”

“Merlin, _shut up_.” Arthur turned just enough to glare at him. “So what did you think, that I would turn from you as if only now realizing all that?”

“I tried to kill Morgana,” he whispered. Arthur snapped his mouth shut. “I know you, Arthur. Your sense of honor.”

Arthur sighed. When he looked back out the window, his shoulders slumped. “I have learned more secrets in this castle in the past days than I believed existed. I have been in the dark on too much, and in response, you took on the secrets yourself.” Merlin didn't know how to respond to that, and by the time he thought to speak, Arthur said, “you have magic. Morgana has magic. And both of you have needed to fear for your lives. I can't imagine the terror she must have felt. I had seen it, and I hadn't understood. You helped her when I couldn't.”

“I don't know that I helped her at all,” Merlin said. “I might have even made it worse. I might have hurt her. Perhaps I should have told her about my own magic, but I couldn't. It didn't even enter my mind. I wouldn't even tell _you_.” Merlin cleared his throat as Arthur's shoulders tensed for that short second before settling straight again.

Arthur turned to him fully then. “So many secrets,” he said, “and I knew none of them. How many times has Camelot been in danger, and you've gone out in secret to save it?” Merlin stayed silent, because he didn't know, and Arthur seemed to know that. “Too many. On your own, forced to do what you had to do. I know the weight of taking a life, Merlin. I even know the weight of taking the life of someone you believed you trusted.” Merlin thought of the knight who had died trying to take Merlin from Arthur just after Arthur had saved him, and he winced. Arthur hadn't wielded the sword then, but he had allowed it to happen. He hadn't stopped Gwaine. To Arthur, it would be the same. “You feel guilt for it. And yes, of course I'm angry! I haven't seen what you have. I've only known Morgana as I've known her. And I want to believe you're lying, or mistaken, or enchanting me, because I love Morgana. But I love you, too.” He scrubbed his face. “I spoke with Gaius about her, and he confirmed she had magic.”

Merlin's breath left him. He didn't know whether to be glad Arthur believed him or upset he didn't take Merlin's word for it. But if someone said such a thing about Gaius, then Merlin wouldn't trust their word alone, either. Not even Arthur's.

“If you're telling the truth about that part, then why not the rest?” Arthur gave a disparaging smile. “I trust my knights with their reports. Why not you with yours? Which means she truly was the reason the Knights of Medir stood immortal against all blows.” Arthur paused, silent for a time. Merlin knew he remembered that day. Merlin remembered it, too; the panic, the fear. The promise. Many nights ensured he would never forget, and even showed him what might have been. Arthur, falling to the knights because Merlin hesitated too long, or because Merlin wasn't persuasive enough. Morgana, dying in his arms. Arthur, burned by the dragon's breath, Merlin's pleas falling on deaf ears. Merlin shivered. Arthur saw it. “You were right. You had to choose. You chose me. Your prince.” The words seemed a bit hollow. “According to law, according to the needs of the kingdom, you did what was right.” Arthur looked back out the window. “And the sin for me is the same. When your Will died, a part of me was infinitely glad that he had taken the arrow and not Morgana, or Gwen, or _you_.”

Merlin blanched.

“And you. I dare say a part of you was glad it was Will and not me.”

Arthur didn't turn, but Merlin nodded all the same. He'd hated that part of himself. The part that had chosen his tenuous friendship with Arthur over the childhood friendship with Will. He'd hated himself for even thinking, for even an instant, that he was  _grateful_ . And yet, even there at the end, Will had understood. Possibly before Merlin. It wasn't just friendship that made Merlin horribly, wretchedly happy that Arthur wasn't the one dying. It was something more. And all Merlin had been able to thank Will for, at the time, had been for keeping his secret. But he thought, even with that, Will had known there was more to Merlin's gratitude than just having his secret safe.

Finally Merlin saw the rising tension in Arthur's shoulders and said, his voice not even a whisper, “yes.” It sounded like blasphemy.

Arthur sighed. “You'd said you'd never dealt with anything like this before, Merlin.” This time when Arthur turned, he walked to Merlin's side and knelt. “Before you met me, you never dealt with life or death situations.” He hardly waited for Merlin to start nodding before continuing. “So you don't know. You've never been taught to deal with people betraying you, or dying for you.” Arthur took a deep, steadying breath, and this time, Merlin couldn't stop himself. He placed one trembling hand on Arthur's shoulder. The touch was light, and Arthur could easily have shrugged it off. But he didn't. “So you take all the blame for yourself. But Merlin. If your mother tried to kill you, and I stopped her by trying to kill  _her_ , how would you feel?”

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to argue that she would never do such a thing, but he stopped. Didn't Arthur feel the same way about Morgana? So he considered it. If his mother tried to kill him – his mind shied away from it. It sounded ridiculous. But if she  _did_ , and Arthur had to choose between Hunith or Merlin? Merlin paled. Arthur should never go through such a decision! But if he  _did_ have to, and he chose Merlin?

Merlin's lips trembled. “Horrified. Guilty. Thankful. Indebted.”

Arthur reached up and grabbed the hand still on his shoulder. “Exactly.” Those blue hunter's eyes pierced him. “And about me?”

Merlin shook his head. “Same.” Even if his mother had died. “I'd still feel the same.” After all, Merlin thought, he'd chosen Arthur even after Freya.

Arthur stood, his hand still on Merlin's, forcing him to stand, as well. “So you know how I feel.” And because speaking on emotions was Arthur's Achilles heel, he let Merlin go and stepped away. “Now. I need to meet with my father and his council. You are going to wait here for Gwaine, who better hurry up if he knows what's good for him. Then you will send a message out for Lancelot. And then you will do your chores – whatever's left after your bout of insanity yesterday.” Merlin blinked, remembering his fit of cleanliness earlier. He grinned.

“Are you telling me you didn't like me cleaning your room, sire?”

“Your sudden competence is not what concerned me, _Mer_ lin,” he said, his fingers clenching slightly around Merlin's. Suddenly things between them were easier. Merlin even saw Arthur fighting back a grin. “I thought you might have become temporarily deranged. Perhaps you'd hit your head one too many times.”

“I'll be sure to leave a mess to ease your mind.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I'm sure you'll do that whether you mean to or not.”

“Your well-being is something I strive for instinctively, sire.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned. Arthur let him go and made his way to the door. “On your orders, sire.”

Arthur gave him a look, and Merlin dared make the grin even cheekier, and perhaps a tiny bit lecherous. Arthur blushed and looked down to Merlin's lips. Merlin licked them. Arthur cleared his throat. “Stay here and wait for Gwaine.”

Merlin nodded and waggled his fingers in farewell. Finally Arthur left, closing the door behind him.

Merlin's arm slowly fell once more to his side. Arthur loved him. Arthur wanted them wed. Arthur accepted Merlin's magic. He even accepted what Merlin had done to Morgana.

It was stunning. It was beautiful. It was so joyful it hurt. Merlin touched his chest and giggled.  _Giggled_ , just like the girl Arthur always accused him of being. He went ahead and bounced onto Arthur's bed, just because he was alone and he could. He stuffed his face into Arthur's pillows. Arthur loved him. Arthur's feelings for him hadn't changed.

Even though he felt like a sap, he covered his face with the pillow and laughed. His chest felt like it was exploding, but that was okay. It exploded with bright lights and sparkling tremors, and it was the most magical feeling in the world.

* * *

The guards, when he passed them with Gwaine in tow, talking about his adventure the night before, in which he'd accidentally hit on a woman who'd gone to the tavern with her two brothers and her boyfriend, didn't do more than look his way as he passed. They didn't even glare. It was something Merlin hadn't expected, even after Arthur's declaration. And because they didn't treat him like a murderer, a couple of the kitchen maids, when he'd gone to get Arthur some food before heading into town, had cast him a couple curious glances. It brought Merlin hope. They would come demanding information from him, ask him why the guards had been treating him poorly and, most likely, whether the rumors about him and Arthur were true (and he would have to ask Arthur how he should answer that). And once he answered, they would reciprocate, and gossip with him, and he would learn more about what had been happening in the castle, who had been poking around. He would be able to ask if Morgause had been spotted by any of the staff.

So Merlin went to the tavern, where the bartender gave Gwaine the fish eye and the waitress on duty flirted with him non-stop, and asked the bartender and the maid to send the word out to bring Lancelot back. Merlin didn't know how Arthur would handle that – his father had been ready to send Lancelot into exile before he'd basically sent himself. Yet Merlin thought it was the best possible action to take; they both trusted Lancelot with their lives, and having another person on their side would help morale. Plus, he thought maybe it would be best if Gwen and Lancelot actually worked things out together. Lancelot had left her because he'd believed Arthur had been courting her, and Merlin had thought the same. Now he knew he wasn't, and he wanted Lancelot to know, too.

It was during the walk back that he stopped still and looked around. He felt something. It made him shiver. Gwaine stopped, as well, and gave him a short look before standing protectively in front of him. The market wasn't even close to being filled this early in the morning. The sun still touched the horizon, and only a few shoppers were out on the streets. Merlin shivered again, and this time he recognized the touch of magic. It wrapped slowly around him, almost like fog, or perhaps silk. It touched, enfolded, and then sprinted away. Yet he could still feel a piece of it on him. He paled. “Gwaine,” he whispered, and he grabbed Gwaine's arm. “We need to go. Now.”

For Gwaine's credit, he didn't ask a single question. He just moved. He didn't have a sword, since he was technically nothing more than a servant, so he moved to evade and pulled a dagger from his boot. Merlin just remembered his own dagger, sitting in the back of his waistband, and wondered if he should pull it out, too, or wait and try to catch an enemy by surprise. The idea of trying to use his magic made him shifty and tense. Not only would he be using it in public, but he would be hurting himself, making himself vulnerable. He didn't know if he could afford to do that. If he needed to use his dagger, it would be because Gwaine had already fallen or gotten injured, or perhaps because they'd been separated.

But while many people gave them odd looks, no one attacked them. Though Merlin tried to ready himself for a magical attack, or a magical creature like the strange rat-reptile, nothing happened. Yet he could still feel it, that other magic stuck on him, following him, pointing him out like a beacon in the night for whoever had used the spell. And what were the chances it was someone other than Morgause? Was the magic able to feel his own? If he used his magic, would she know of it?

He itched to pull out the dagger, but he didn't. He didn't even know how to use the thing. If he needed it, the only thing in his favor would be the element of surprise.

Gwaine moved someone out of their way as the person crossed their path, and the man muttered a curse as he walked behind Merlin. Merlin watched him, ready for the man to attack, but though he complained, he didn't go near them. And then they were in the courtyard, and the place was open, almost empty, and guards stood stationed at their posts. They took one look at Gwaine and stood at attention. Merlin saw Jence to his left, and was greeted with his first glare of the day. He didn't have time to wonder at it before Gwaine had him ushered into the castle and up the stairs toward Gaius' rooms. Merlin opened his mouth to demand to be taken to Arthur's room, but then thought better of it. If Gwaine was taking him to Gaius and not to Arthur, then it was for a good reason.

The hall was thin, and Gwaine had to choose to go in front of or behind Merlin, leaving Merlin's other side vulnerable to attack. Gwaine chose behind, and ordered Merlin to duck if Gwaine said the word. So it was with Merlin leading the way that they made it to Gaius' chambers. Merlin opened the door, but Gwaine made him stand outside while he cleared the place. Merlin blinked and looked down the hall both ways. He felt his magic within him, bunching in him like muscles. Yet he tamped it down, as hard as he could, because he thought the magic on him might not be just a tracer, and he didn't know how to be sure without potentially blowing his secret wide open, and to the last kind of person he would want to know.

Finally Gwaine led him inside, and Gaius gave him a pulled-brow look. Gwaine closed the door and ushered Merlin to the bench. Then he stood beside him. “Merlin?” Gaius asked, walking up to him. He had two vials in his hand, and it was clear he'd been about ready to walk out the door. “What's happened?”

Merlin shook his head, looking over to Gwaine, who was studying the door like someone might come bursting out of it. “I don't know. I can't be sure. But it might be best if you leave for a little bit? Take those to whoever needs them.” He nodded toward the medicine in Gaius' hand. “We'll stay here?” He turned to Gwaine to check, and Gwaine nodded.

“I'll tell Arthur where you are,” Gaius said, and hustled out the door.

Gwaine stood for a few more moments once Gaius was gone, his entire body perched like an owl, or a hawk. Merlin waited a few moments before saying, “Gwaine, I think you'll be getting your fight some time soon.”

Gwaine gave a quick, brief grin before turning a much more concerned gaze on Merlin. “What makes you say that?”

Merlin smiled and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Gwaine sighed. “Does this secret have to do with Arthur, or with you?”

“Both of us?” he said, though he wasn't quite sure. “I think Arthur thinks it has to do with him, and I don't think I should speak to anyone about it without at last discussing it with him first.” And more importantly, Merlin didn't feel right telling Gwaine. The man was great, and kind, and funny. But Merlin still felt that reflex to gag himself, to keep silent. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to tell anyone. He'd been raised to fear admitting to such a thing. It might be impossible forever. He hoped not.

It took a while, and Gwaine kept himself sharp by pacing from the window to the door and back every few minutes, tilting his head at the door and peering out the corner of the window. He twiddled his dagger in his hands in ways that made Merlin sure he should have been cutting himself, balancing the very tip of the dagger on his finger, twisting the blade over the backs of his fingers. And yet when someone's footsteps clopped outside the door, suddenly the thing was in his hand, hilt held tight. Merlin watched, wondering if he should ask Gwaine how to use the thing. Would Arthur get mad if he chose Gwaine as his mentor?

Then one of those footsteps stopped outside the room. Gwaine tensed, but Merlin smiled and stood. When the door opened, Merlin stepped forward and touched Gwaine's shoulder. “Arthur!”

Arthur stepped inside, automatically looking Merlin up and down. Then he turned to Gwaine. “Thank you,” he said. “Gaius said you shepherded Merlin here?”

Gwaine nodded. “Something happened out at the marketplace, though I didn't see anything.” He turned to Merlin. “He said it was about a secret between you two.”

Merlin flushed, even as Arthur shot him a dangerous look. “That's not – I mean...”

And he sputtered like an idiot until Arthur rolled his eyes and said, “all right, then. And why did you choose here? He should have been brought to my chambers.”

“No offense, princess, but if I recall correctly, your chambers might very well be the first place someone might look for one of you two.”

Both Arthur and Merlin blinked. Arthur huffed a wry grin. “Well! Nicely done, Gwaine.” Merlin beamed at the man. Of course Gwaine preened like a diva. “Merlin, shall we retire to your room, then?”

Gwaine's face contorted immediately into a leer. The only thing surprising about it was how fast he managed to switch. “Have fun,” he said, and Merlin flushed horribly. Gwaine cackled.

Arthur grabbed his wrist on the way inside, and Merlin was left half-stumbling up the steps. Arthur sighed loudly at Merlin's lack of grace. Gwaine laughed some more.

Once they were inside, however, Arthur let Merlin go and carefully checked to make sure Gwaine didn't come near. Then he checked the room much the way Gwaine had, shaking his head and making several disparaging noises as he kicked and shoved Merlin's messes to the side. “What? I clean all day. Why would I want to clean more?”

“How about just maintain?” Arthur said. “Or maybe don't be such a slob?”

“Nah,” Merlin said, smiling at Arthur's annoyed huff. He sat on his bed and watched as Arthur checked the cabinets, the small closet, under the bed, and finally peeked out of Merlin's window.

Finally assured the room was secure, Arthur turned on Merlin. “So what happened? I take it whatever it was had something to do with...” And Arthur waved his hand. “Your abilities.”

Merlin nearly rolled his eyes. He knew his room was a bit more private than Arthur thought; he was able to sleep with a minimum of fuss, even when Gaius had patients in the room downstairs. The door was thick, and the room sat on the very edge of the castle's tower, making it unlikely anyone was going to travel down the hall outside unless they specifically needed the physician. So Merlin said, “yes, it was magic,” with a level tone of voice. Arthur crossed his arms. “I felt it. I'd never felt anything like it before, but I could swear it was... identifying me.” He rolled his shoulders as Arthur's eyes narrowed. “It's tracking me. I don't know enough about magic to know if it's able to sense my own magic, or if it will only sense it if I use it. If it does...”

“That's why you haven't tried to figure out more about it,” Arthur said, lips thinning as he thought. “Is there a way to find out?”

Merlin nodded. “But not with others here.” He looked toward his door as if he could see Gwaine through it. “And I think – I mean, if there's someone tracking me, looking for me, then obviously they're going to want to meet up with me at some point.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “And the chances this isn't Morgause?”

Merlin shifted on his bed. “Probably pretty slim. I can't tell for sure without using my magic, but the magic on me feels like hers, somehow.”

“Gods, Merlin.” Arthur covered his face with his hands. After one hard scrub, he nodded. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

Merlin cleared his throat and thought. “I don't know anything else. This was my first time traveling through the marketplace since you went after Morgause, so I can't even tell if it might have been lying in wait or a spur of the moment thing. And I don't know what kind of spell it was. It hasn't hurt me yet, as far as I know. I think it's only for tracking. And if we take it off, she'll know someone with magic is nearby, even if she doesn't know it was me.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, I thought of that. But we can't just let her know your every move. While we're trying to be careful, we can't have someone on you every minute of every day.”

“So we set a trap,” Merlin said. Arthur made a strangled sound. “What else can we do? Either we attack her or she attacks us.”

Arthur gave him a look then that was a little more than assessing. As if he was seeing something in Merlin he hadn't ever expected to see, and didn't seem to know how he should feel about it. “It's too risky, Merlin. You can't even use your magic right now to protect yourself. And Morgause and Morgana most likely want you dead. What's the point in keeping you alive when they can destroy me just by killing you?”

Merlin winced.

“Any trap we try to make would be either plainly obvious or too complicated, relying on too many factors. And if you rely on too many factors, then one of them is sure to fail. And if we fail, you die.”

“It hurts to use magic, Arthur, but I still can. And I'll have your dagger.”

But Arthur was already shaking his head. “I'm not saying this simply because I'm concerned about what might happen. What would your plan for the trap be? For us to try to take Morgause by surprise? And if we fail, what then? Not only do you die, but she could very easily kill both myself and Gwaine – the only two people I can trust with your life and, perhaps, your secret. And if we succeed? We might kill her, thus ruining our chance to learn more about Morgana. And if we don't kill her? What would our injuries be? How could we ensure that she tells us what we need to know? Would Morgana go into hiding, or would she die because she isn't actually working with Morgause?”

Despite everything, Merlin smiled. Arthur stopped ticking off the reasons why Merlin was wrong and tilted his head. “What?”

Merlin shook his head. “I'm just so glad I can talk to you like this.”

Arthur seemed almost confused for a moment. His lips ticked upwards, then slid down, then flicked upward again. “Yes. Well...”

Merlin leaned back onto his elbows and stared at Arthur, just because he couldn't be seen by anyone else doing so. This was another moment where Merlin found himself helplessly in love. Arthur in charge, ordering others. And again, Arthur in his ridiculously emotionally constipated form, still standing straight but looking like he'd prefer to be anywhere else. Most likely a battlefield.

Anything. Everything. He loved it all.

Arthur cleared his throat again. “In any case, a trap is out of the question. But you're right about taking off the magic. She'll most likely guess someone with magic was nearby. The only person I know with such a gift would be Gaius. And if I know, then certainly Morgana might. And if  _she_ does...”

“She doesn't, I don't think.” But Merlin frowned.

“If she does, either she'll tell Morgause or Morgause will get the information out of her.” Arthur's lips thinned at that, but Merlin didn't really think that was too much of a possibility. Morgause had been frantic when she'd learned of Morgana having been poisoned. She would most likely never dare harm her. But he kept his mouth shut, because Arthur didn't need to know that little piece. “So if we do anything with magic, we would merely have to expect that her attack would change to Gaius. Though she may easily choose to capture him, thus leading you to her anyway.”

Merlin ducked his head. That was also true; Merlin would go off to rescue Gaius the moment anything happened to him.

Arthur sighed and leaned against the door. “Gwaine! Come in, please.”

Merlin cocked a brow at the politeness, but Arthur was staring off toward Merlin's window, and Merlin knew better than to interrupt Arthur's thoughts.

Gwaine, of course, had no such qualms, and came pounding in, the door nearly slamming against the cabinet beside it. Gwaine quickly caught it and closed it, managing to look both sheepish and flippant. “What is it, princess? Want me to make sure nobody comes near for an hour or two?” He gave both of them that damnable grin again.

“No,” Arthur said, as if trying to shoot down any of Gwaine's frivolity. As if that could possibly stop the man. “I need you to go find Kay. Tell him to give you the names of those still doubting me.” Gwaine huffed. “I also need you to get a sword. If someone asks, just tell them you're running an errand for me.” Gwaine grinned. Arthur rolled his eyes. “Go. As quickly as you can. And Gwaine?” Gwaine looked back. “The moment Merlin states he doesn't want you making those remarks anymore, I better not hear a single sound from you. Are we clear?”

Gwaine just grinned wider. “Then I'll make sure you don't hear, princess.”

Arthur looked ready to say something more, but Gwaine was already out the door and thundering down the stairs. Merlin smiled. “It's fine, Arthur. It's nice to have someone teasing me about it instead of glaring at me or threatening me.”

Arthur looked even more upset at that, but at least he let it go. “You can sit down, you know,” Merlin said, and patted the bed beside him. Of course, the idea of Arthur on his bed was enough to make his brain short-circuit a bit. And then there was the small issue of the two of them being on the bed at the same time. Merlin had to keep his mouth closed to keep from salivating.

Arthur came and sat, but he was rock-hard stiff. There would be zero chance for foreplay here, or anything more to the point. Arthur was on red alert. Merlin supposed he should be, as well. But someone tracking him would wait a bit before attacking, he thought. Learn his habits, see when he was alone, if possible – would the magic tell them something like that, or would they have to get close to find out? He opened his mouth to ask Arthur. “We need to tighten security around Camelot and the castle,” Arthur said, beating Merlin once more to the punch. “The magic might only track your whereabouts, but they might not tell the person who's with you or whether the area is busy while you're there.” Merlin blinked. Had he and Arthur somehow melded minds for an instant? “And even if it does, Morgause – or whoever it might be,” Arthur said, though neither of them doubted it was her, “will eventually either come or send someone to pick you up.” His entire body seemed to shiver. Merlin thought it looked just as it did just before Arthur engaged an opponent, in those short instances when he looked over his opponent and found his weaknesses, guessed his movements, and sometimes already defeated the person before even lifting his sword.

“Arthur?” he said, cutting Arthur off before he could go on a planning spiel. “We're going to have to wait for her to make the first move, aren't we?”

Arthur's lips pulled down as if tethered to strings. He looked towards Merlin's wall, then once more out the window. “Yes. Most likely.”

Ah. Arthur was tearing himself apart trying to think of something else. “But waiting might be in our favor,” Merlin said. At Arthur's look, Merlin reminded him, “Lancelot's on his way. That's one more person on our team. And I need time to recover from what my magic did for me. I might be healed by the time Morgause plans to make her move. And if not, you and Gwaine would at least be able to get a bit of a break when Lancelot arrives. And by then, you might be able to come up with a plan.”

Arthur stared at Merlin for a few moments, blinking down from his sitting position on Merlin's grin as he lay back further and further on his bed. He wasn't tired, not really, even though he hadn't rested well the night before. His body was thrumming. He hoped Arthur wouldn't notice; it wasn't something they could do anything about. Not with Arthur so tense and no one else around to ensure nothing happened while they... interacted.

“You're ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur said, but he finally loosened up a bit. They sat in silence for a while, Merlin trying to ignore Arthur's presence on his bed and the ridiculous need in his body. Of course, once he finally got himself to settle down, he really _did_ start feeling sleepy. He found himself dozing off when Arthur suddenly grabbed his head and placed one hand over his heart. He startled awake just as Arthur's wide eyes changed to a blush. Arthur let go of him and turned away.

Merlin sat up. He didn't know that he actually lost a lot of time; he'd felt himself on the edge of sleep, but hadn't quite fallen under. He imagined it might have been an hour or so and nothing more. Arthur still sat exactly where he'd been, right by Merlin's leg. Merlin touched Arthur's thigh when he made to stand. “Arthur.”

“We aren't talking about it, Merlin.”

“That's fine, just listen to me, then.” Merlin gave Arthur a cheeky grin when he turned to glare at him. “Having nightmares is normal. I can't tell you how many I have in which I don't make it to you in time.” Both of them ignored how their cheeks flushed at that. “The only thing that upsets me is that I gave these nightmares to you. I didn't mean to. If you need to check to make sure I'm all right, that's perfectly fine. Anything you need, Arthur. Don't be afraid to ask.”

Arthur huffed a breath and looked away. “Don't be ridiculous,  _Mer_ lin.” But though he tensed again as if he wanted to stand, he didn't move Merlin's hand from him. He didn't move at all.

Gwaine pounded into the room then, and Merlin pulled his hand away quickly before Arthur's Haughty Prince look could be ruined. Gwaine pouted at the sight of them. “Aw, I was hoping to interrupt something a little steamier.” He brightened. “Oh, well! Here.” He showed off his sword, which he'd buckled around his waist in flagrant disregard for rules or law. “And Kay says Leopold, Justin, Jence, and Solomon have all been seen continuing to whisper about our boy here.” He jerked a thumb Merlin's way. “I saw the Jence guy, too, I think. The one I nicked in the forest?”

Arthur nodded. “The one spreading the rumors.”

“That's the one,” Gwaine said. He gave Arthur a grin.

Arthur finally stood. Even though they hadn't quite been touching, Merlin still felt the loss of his body heat immediately. “I need to check on those men. Where did you see Kay?”

“He was outside the council room to the left.”

Merlin remembered Arthur had needed to speak with the council, and he gave Arthur a quick look, wondering if his issue had pulled Arthur from his duties. Somehow, Arthur managed to understand him. “No, my father simply wanted to speak with me about border patrols. I gave him my information and was shooed out of the room. I don't believe he wants to tell me anything significant anymore.” His lips thinned again, and Merlin hurt for him. Arthur loved his kingdom, and he took his responsibilities seriously. Being pulled from such meetings would hurt him. Of course, Uther probably thought anything Arthur learned would be reported back to Merlin, who would use it to destroy Camelot or something. Merlin wished Arthur wouldn't get punished for Merlin's mistakes. He didn't bother to apologize, however. He didn't want to hurt Arthur any more than he already was.

Arthur moved to the door. “Do not let him out of your sight,” Arthur said, pointing at Gwaine. “Merlin believes whoever sent that creature into my room might be looking for him.”

Gwaine cast Merlin a far more serious glance than usual. “Then it won't be hard to find him. There aren't many places he goes, princess. Here, your room, to the laundry or the kitchen or the water pump. The kid doesn't really go anywhere.”

Arthur frowned. His lips pulled back, almost like a cornered animal, before he managed to get himself under control. “Just watch out for anything. Merlin, don't leave the castle. I know this isn't the safest place for you right now, either, but at least we know the danger here.”

Merlin nodded. “Don't worry about me, Arthur. I'll be fine.” He made sure to waggle his fingers a bit more than necessary when he waved goodbye. Again, Arthur's expression didn't change, but he at least looked a little less... feral. “Take care of whatever you have to. I'll do the laundry and polish your nasty boots.”

“My boots are not nasty, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur said, but his voice was a bit hollow, and Merlin didn't bother trying to engage him in their usual tiffs.

“I'll be fine,” he said again, and Arthur nodded and left. Merlin solemnly watched him go.

* * *

Merlin didn't know what Arthur did with his day, but he spent it gathering Arthur's clothes and cleaning each of them one at a time, taking care to get the job done properly, since he couldn't use his magic to help him out. The washroom sat in a small, open area in the back of the castle, still a room, but the ceiling was missing on the second half. Though there a small tower beside the open area, it was merely a guards' barracks, and during the day, it was like a ghost town. The women who took care of the linens for the beds had already come and gone, taking care of their own duties in a far more efficient manner than Merlin ever could, and Merlin decided to enjoy the peace of it all. Gwaine watched both the entrance to the room and the open area from a perch against a wall in front of Merlin, and they traded light banter as Merlin went about his work.

There was something relaxing about taking care of Arthur's things. It made no sense to him; he hated cleaning, and he wasn't a fan of playing serving boy to anyone, either. Yet, if it was Arthur, somehow it was okay. Like an intrinsic faith thing, Merlin believed helping Arthur in any way he could was time well spent, even if it was just making sure that he looked the part of a prince.

So he spent his morning on Arthur's clothes, then his afternoon in Arthur's room, preparing for the worst case scenario, sharpening Arthur's sword and cleaning every link of his chainmail. He cleaned Arthur's shield and checked diligently for even the slightest hint of a dent. Gwaine sat at the table, no longer waiting outside the room but staying where he could keep an eye on Merlin. Most likely, Gwaine thought a person would scale the wall much like the creature had, but Merlin feared more a magical attack. Without using his magic, would he sense it before it struck? Would the trace on him somehow lure an attack of some sort straight to him? He wanted to go and check Gaius' books, but he couldn't. Not with Gwaine attached to his hip. And while Arthur might employ Gaius' help, the king made a habit of slamming into Gaius' chambers too often for it to be safe for him to read around in magical tomes. It would be best for Merlin and Merlin alone to do it, preferably with Arthur protecting him from getting caught. If Lancelot was there, then he could help, too.

Speaking of, Merlin thought, pulled from his wandering thoughts with a grimace, he would probably have to tell Arthur that Lancelot knew. He wondered how angry Arthur would be to learn of it. Merlin would have to explain that he hadn't told Lancelot, that he'd used his magic because he'd feared for Arthur's and Lancelot's lives.

Wonderful. Another awkward conversation. Though, he supposed, it was better than neither of them getting the chance to share it. Better than him taking his secret to his grave, or waiting too long and telling Arthur when their lives were almost over.

_His_ life, he thought. Not Arthur's. The thought of failing and letting Arthur die before him made him want to throw up.

Once he finished Arthur's shield, he even went so far as to clean Arthur's flail and finally found himself itching to do more, to fix everything, to put enchantments on Arthur's weapons and armor despite the fact that Uther would probably find out somehow and chop his head off. He settled for actually polishing those boots.

He was just gathering up as much of Arthur's armor as possible to carry down to the armory when someone knocked on the door. Merlin froze, his eyes wide. Arthur wasn't in the room, but it was common for someone to knock on the door and inquire as to where he might be. Or at least, it had been before he'd been written off as the castle's leper.

Gwaine was the one to go and actually answer the door, and a small assembly of guards stood behind it. Merlin stiffened. Gaius hadn't told him of any plans or extra fervor or mania in the king. Or were these men looking for Arthur? Had Arthur called for them? Or maybe Arthur was injured and they hadn't been able to find Gaius?

Merlin put Arthur's weapons and armor carefully down on the table, not willing to destroy all his hard work, and raced up to Gwaine. Gwaine put a hand in front of him, stopping him from getting any closer. The guards looked from Gwaine to Merlin and back. “The king has ordered his presence in the throne room,” the lead guard said. Merlin thought he recognized him. The man had been one of those to threaten him, but since most had done so, Merlin didn't really consider it worth remembering. The man hadn't given Merlin a hard time since Arthur had yelled at his knights – the statement had almost certainly been circulated, and Merlin wondered if the king had heard it.

Did it really matter? Merlin's gut twisted at the thought of meeting the king. What did he want? To threaten Merlin? To hurt him? Kill him?

But Merlin couldn't refuse. Uther was  _king_ . And if he tried to refuse, it would be all Uther would need to do whatever he wanted to Merlin. So with a gentle hand on Gwaine's shoulder, he stepped out from behind Gwaine. “I'll go,” he said. Gwaine made a noise in the back of his throat. Merlin turned to him. “Find Arthur,” he murmured, and let himself be led away.

The walk to the throne room was silent, their footsteps echoing. A couple of servants in the hall quickly got out of their way. Gwen saw them coming and stared at Merlin with wide eyes. He tried to smile for her, but it was pathetic and she merely looked even more distressed by it. He thought he could hear, as they passed her, her footsteps racing away, and knew that Gwaine wouldn't be the only one searching for Arthur.

There were guards by the entrance to the throne room, and they scowled down at him as they opened the doors. Whatever they might have felt after Arthur's words, Merlin had a feeling Uther was working to go against it. These men might have turned from Arthur again. The thought of it made Merlin hurt. Arthur wanted to trust these men. He wanted them to be a part of his team. Uther was destroying something his son had thought sacred, all because he hated magic too much to see what Merlin would do to protect Arthur.

When the door opened, Merlin knew he was in trouble. Even though it was afternoon, it wasn't unusual for there to be visitors to the throne room until deep into the evening. It was even customary for a noble or two to still be in the castle by the time dinner came, and inevitably they might be invited to stay with the royal family while they ate. Now the throne room was clear, empty of even a servant, and Merlin was escorted in by several guards to stand before Uther, who sat in his throne like an executioner.

Merlin looked up to the dais, imagining Arthur in his chair next to Uther. It didn't make him feel any better; the fact of the matter remained that Arthur wasn't there, and there was nothing Arthur could do, anyway. Though he'd asked for Arthur's presence, he knew Arthur could really do little else but bluster and argue, perhaps even put himself in the line of fire. In the end, it was merely because Merlin needed to have Arthur nearby. That was all it was.

“You.” Uther looked down on Merlin, and the guards took a careful step away from him, almost choreographed. No one wanted to be in the way of Uther's ire.

Merlin bowed his head. “My king.”

Uther humphed. There was no humor in the sound. “Don't bother pretending, sorcerer.”

Merlin stiffened, but he tried to affect a confused look as he looked up. The men around him slid their hands to the hilts of their swords. “Sire?”

“Enough,” Uther said, waving away Merlin's efforts. Yet he still feigned confusion and fear – well, the fear wasn't hard. “I've received reports that you are staying in Arthur's rooms through the night. Is this true?”

Merlin flushed, even though they hadn't done anything more strenuous than sleep. His mouth dropped open. Uther had been accepting of Arthur's so-called 'indiscretions' before he'd learned of Merlin's magic. He'd simply wanted Arthur to be a bit more discreet. Merlin was positive that wasn't Uther's problem now.

“Your king asked you a question!” one of the men hissed, and Merlin jumped.

“Oh! Um, yes? But there wasn't – I mean, I only–”

“Unacceptable,” Uther interrupted. “This court is not a bordello, boy.” Merlin blushed further at the implications. “And my son is not your lady of the evening.” Merlin's jaw nearly hit the floor. Even the guards had the sense to look uncomfortable. To think the king would be willing to insult his son in such a way. And in front of the guards Arthur himself led. Merlin felt outrage bubble in his chest. “You will be escorted out of this castle,” Uther said, and Merlin found the bubble popping in shock. “You will take nothing with you. You will leave immediately, and you will never return to this kingdom.” Uther leaned forward. “You have one chance.”

Merlin didn't care what the chance was. He could see it in Uther's eyes. This was the beginning of what Gaius had warned Merlin about. To any who watched, Uther was merely sending Merlin away. He wasn't harming him. But he would ensure Merlin didn't get to begin his exile. He probably wouldn't get past Camelot's forests.

“Let go of my son,” Uther said, “and never see him again.”

Merlin's eyes widened. He could see in Uther's eyes that the moment Merlin agreed, the moment he supposedly let Arthur free from an enchantment, Uther would get rid of Merlin. He had his sword strapped to his waist, Merlin realized, and Merlin held no doubt that he would use it without hesitation. Most likely with a great amount of pleasure.

Merlin shook his head. “We didn't do anything, Highness. And if anything, he owns me. Until the day I die, and beyond, if there is any life beyond death. I am his servant, and I couldn't hope to be more. Nor do I wish it.”

Merlin stood as strong as he was able against Uther's black look, and finally said, “I haven't done anything to Ar – Prince Arthur, your Highness. Whether you believe me or not, sire, it's true.”

The utter gall made one of the guards tense. His hand tightened on his sword.

Uther stood. His clothing creaked and rustled, and Merlin was reminded suddenly of the sound of wolves hunting through thick grass. “So you refuse.”

“I can't undo what I've never done,” Merlin said, figuring if he was going to be exiled, anyway, it might as well be for something he'd actually done. He thought of Arthur. He'd just promised he would stay by Arthur's side. Was he about to break that promise?

“Take him away,” Uther snarled, and Merlin struggled stupidly as two of the guards grabbed his arms.

“Sire, please.” But he didn't know how to plead his case. He was a sorcerer, even though he was pretending he wasn't. He was Arthur's lover, even though he hadn't done anything with Arthur in quite a while. According to Arthur, Merlin was Arthur's consort. _Consort_. While the prince had a ridiculous amount of power, it was nothing compared to the rule of the king. And yes, it was against the law to be a sorcerer, or to fraternize with the prince. And yet Merlin had done so, and was so, and he'd known all along that this could very well be the result.

The throne room echoed with each step he was forced to take, each yank, each stumble, ricocheted around the room like shouts. Merlin saw Uther's triumphant smirk just as a new ruckus joined in the first. “Let me in!” Merlin heard, and he swiveled his head. “I am your prince!”

There was a hesitation in the guards, and Merlin turned to the one on his left. The man looked torn. He stared at the door like it was a viper.

“Haven't done anything to him, hm?” Uther said, his eyes narrowing. Merlin's heart jumped. He didn't think that was the look of a man who was sending someone into exile. It wasn't even the look of a man sending another to his death. Merlin shivered. “Get him out of here before he does more damage,” he said, waving Merlin and the guards away, but he looked toward the side entrance. Avoiding Arthur? Merlin twisted and pulled as the guards did as ordered. His magic once more flared in him, ready to be used. He tamped it down and dug his heels in as best he could. Arthur ordered the guards out of his way once more, and finally Merlin heard _fighting_. He gasped. One glance at Uther told him Arthur's actions were only confirming his belief.

“Sire,” Merlin said, listening as someone outside shouted for reinforcements. Arthur would soon be overrun by his own men. “Please. I would never do anything to harm Ar – the prince. Nothing! I – I love him,” he said breathlessly. “I know I'm not worthy of it, or him, and I'm not trying to take him away. So please!”

Uther's face twisted in disgust. “A man loving another man? Preposterous.” Merlin's heart hammered. “Enough! Your presence next to my son is my fault. My mistake. And I'm rectifying it now.”

Merlin shook his head. “Wait!”

The guards dragged him back, one hand on his arm, another on his shoulder, forcing him back, stopping every launch forward before he could so much as uncoil his muscles. Every attempt actually pushed him further back, closer to the side door, his feet slipping on the marble floor. His magic rose again, slid into his fingers. He pushed it away once more. Arthur's men wouldn't dare harm him, and there was no other reason to use it. He wouldn't hurt Arthur's father. He wouldn't hurt the men who were simply following orders. And so his magic slid back down once more, and Merlin fought uselessly until he was at the door, and one of the men kicked it, and one of the guards outside the door opened it.

Merlin heard Arthur shouting, raging, ordering his men to let him go. He thought he heard Gwaine, as well, and the sound of someone crumbling to the ground. Merlin clenched his eyes shut. The world was too white, too still. No one saw him being dragged down through the side hall because there was no one save the guards posted. Merlin heard everything like it was amplified, however. Each step, each shuffle of clothing, each exhaled breath as the guards struggled with him.  _This_ was why Uther had pointed to the side door. He'd already prepared to leave no witnesses.

Then he heard Arthur slamming the other doors open, and even though Merlin knew he was already too far to see, he opened his eyes. “Arthur!” Uther roared, loud enough that it carried down the hall, bouncing up and down along the passageway. Merlin strained everything within him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“That's my question!” Arthur said. “You swore you wouldn't hurt him!”

_Arthur_ .

Merlin heard only mumbles, and then Uther's voice, shouting again, “No! Stay where you are, Arthur.”

Then it was too late, and Merlin was too far away to hear whatever they said, and he was carried to the edge of the hall and down another. Merlin knew this route. It led to the jail cells. And past them, down a long corridor, was a tunnel that led outside. “Please,” he said, turning to the men, knowing he looked nearly mad and not caring. None of the men looked ready to listen, and he knew it would be a waste of breath. So he tried something else. “Please protect him. If I can't be by his side – I swore I'd stay next to him.” His thoughts raced. “Please. Don't let him go off against the king. Don't let him get himself in trouble. Make sure he's safe. I know he's your leader, but if he seems about to do something stupid, you have to stop him.”

The men didn't respond, but one of them pulled his teeth back and snarled. When Merlin tried once more to move forward, trying instinctively to get to Arthur, the man's yank on his arm nearly seemed to wrench it from its socket.

When they finally arrived at the side, Merlin saw a carriage ready and waiting, the windows covered by black mourning curtains. Merlin shivered. At the head, holding the reins, was Jence.

The guards shoved Merlin toward the thing, and while Merlin's feet nearly tangled together, the door opened. Merlin saw two more guards, both of them men who had brandished their weapons at him whenever he'd approached. Merlin managed a wide-eyed squeak before they tugged him inside. One grabbed his wrists while the other slammed the door closed on the guards watching from below. Merlin tried to pull his hands free, but just as he was about to demand they let go, the one by the door moved behind him. Merlin tensed. The man holding his wrists tightened his grip still more, crushing Merlin's bones together, and when he winced, a gag was pressed round his mouth. He jerked. Yelped. The sound was muffled. His magic rose in him, ready to shove the man away. Merlin wrangled it down, even as his heart raced.

Then the man behind him shoved his head down and banged on the wall of the carriage, and the horses began clopping away.

Merlin's heart seized. The king didn't even need to hire anyone. He could affect full impunity. Merlin was about to leave the damn kingdom in a completely unprotected royal carriage. He made a small, aborted noise, the gag halting it just past this throat. The curtain was drawn, dark, so no one could see inside and realize there was nothing inside but a bound servant and a couple of guards. The fact that a knight led the carriage just solidified the deal. Merlin clenched his eyes closed. The king didn't need to so much as lift his hand. He could pretend he wasn't harming Merlin, that he was just exiling him – the loophole Gaius had understood as soon as he'd heard the promise. Merlin wasn't going to be harmed by anything the king did. The king's honor would be intact and Merlin would be dead, unable to incant, only able to shove some men away. And the other guard still held his hands. Merlin thought of his dagger, sitting in the back of his waistband. If he could grab it, he might be able to fight back a bit better. And if he could get his hands free – if, say, the guard let him go to fight against the bandits – then he could get the gag off.

And that would be when another black cloth was pulled out, and while Merlin swung his head around to try to keep it from being put over his eyes, it was wrapped around his wrists.

Okay. He could still at least get the gag off if he had to. If no one was looking. If they were attacked.

_When_ they were attacked.

The horses' hooves clipped loudly against the cobblestone, and Merlin found himself struggling where he stood hunched in between the benches as the carriage bucked slightly. One of the men – the one behind him – grabbed his shoulder and pulled him harshly down. Merlin's butt slammed into the bench, and he winced. The guards didn't seem to care. While the previous ones might have looked somewhat hesitant, these two looked ready to skewer him if he cleared his throat too loudly. He kept his eyes on the carriage floor and hunched his shoulders in.

It was over. What could Merlin do? It was the  _king_ . He'd ordered Merlin's exile, and there was no way to repeal it. The king would never dare. And what would Arthur do? Rant, rage, scream? He couldn't chase after Merlin, not without being branded mad, or a traitor, or something even worse. The king could lock him up. Beat him. Whip him. Gods, please let Arthur keep hold of his senses.

But Merlin had made a promise. And even if he hadn't, he had to do  _something_ . Returning to Camelot might not have worked, but something else? Staying in the forest? Only Merlin didn't know anything about hunting or even camping, and he didn't yet know enough about herbs. And staying in the forest would be useless; even if Morgause wasn't after him, he would most likely not know of any danger to Arthur's life until it was too late.

Maybe he could return in disguise. Could that work? Was there magic that could do that? He didn't know, and he didn't have his book to try to find something. He shifted in his seat, his ass hurting from the abrupt slam. Both guards watched him, hands on their swords. So they had orders to harm him the minute he fought back? But of course they did. He was a vile, evil sorcerer who had manipulated the king's son.

He closed his eyes again, let himself feel the change from cobblestones to dirt, the easier slide of the wheels, the softer sound of the horses' hooves, the change in scent from city to open air. Soon the scent of pine wafted through the curtains. Yet before all that, he was aware of the pinch in his shoulders, the soft, unyielding fibers around his wrists, the taste of cloth on his tongue.

He'd thought he would face the pyre, or beheading, or perhaps an attack from one of the guards, or maybe a horde of them, working on Uther's command. He'd thought he would remain by Arthur's side until the very end.

He imagined returning, finally having found a way to disguise himself, only to learn that it was too late, that Arthur was dead, that he'd failed in his destiny. All by that one horrid, stupid mistake. He should have made sure Uther was unconscious. He should have knocked him unconscious himself. And now it was too late, and of anyone, Arthur would be the one to suffer the consequences.

Merlin lost track of time. All he knew was the the carriage kept moving, the guards kept watching him, and no one shouted for him. Undoubtedly, Uther was keeping Arthur busy, perhaps forcing him to stand by his side as Merlin slipped away, or even taking him to the dungeons to wait for Merlin's demise and see if Arthur suddenly snapped out of it. To see if Merlin's supposed enchantment really did continue after Merlin's death.

And when Arthur's feelings didn't change? When Arthur remained loyal to Merlin? Would Uther still consider it an enchantment? Would he wait to see if it faded with time? And what about Arthur?

Merlin clenched his hands into fists. He heard the guards shift, ready to strike, but he didn't let himself care. When Arthur found out Merlin was dead. What would he do then? How would he respond? Would he try to kill his father, like he had when he'd learned of his mother's fate? Would he renounce his title? The throne? He couldn't! Arthur had to become king. It was his destiny. It was his birthright. It was who he was.

Merlin shivered as a gust of wind swept through the curtain, making it flutter. One of the guards grabbed it and pulled it shut. It was dark in the carriage, almost oppressively so. The sun had finally set. Merlin wondered if the guards knew of the king's plan, and what they would do once the bandits struck. Were they ready for the bandits to come? Would they jump out of the carriage and run? Just stand back and let the bandits inside? Or – more likely – would they skewer Merlin themselves and  _say_ the bandits did it?

Or did they not know? Would they be surprised?

Merlin got his answer before he could consider any farther; someone shouted from outside the carriage, and Merlin distinctly heard Jence say, “shit!”

Merlin tensed as both guards stood and unsheathed their swords. But neither of them looked at him. Both turned their attention to the window.

It was his best chance. Merlin reached up and yanked off his gag. He reached out his hands and whispered, “ _ Ic þé wiþdrífe, _ ” and both guards smacked into the side of the carriage. The entire thing shook, Merlin's attack going a bit too widespread with his hands bound, and Jence cursed again. Merlin nearly fell, both to the carriage rolling around and the nausea creeping up his throat from the pain lancing his arms and chest. To save himself from a fall, he sat hard on the bench. He winced all over again as his sore rear was dealt another hard blow.

Merlin waited a short second to make sure his feet were steady, and then he launched straight back up and made for the carriage door. He heard Jence jump down from the front seat and stilled, ready to attack the man if he came after Merlin. Instead he thought he heard Jence running slightly away. And then the sound was confirmed; Merlin heard Gwaine shout. He jumped and clawed at the door. His hands, bound as they were, refused to twist properly for him to get a good handhold. He snarled and tensed, preparing himself. “ _ Aliese _ .”

The door unlocked, and Merlin hurried out. He barely managed to stumble to the ground before the sounds of battle assaulted his ears. He turned his head and found Gwaine, armed with the sword Arthur had had the foresight to demand he carry, facing off against Jence at the edge of the forest. Jence, who had the common sense to stay back, having learned of Gwaine's skill the last time they'd fought.

“Gwaine!” Merlin shouted, stupidly glad to see his friend. Gwaine looked up at Merlin's call, his furious mask switching to relieved to happy to, as Gwaine took in Merlin's bound hands and the gag hanging over his handkerchief, a new level of enraged.

They were on the main road. Merlin eyed the area as well as he could through the gloom. The forest around Camelot encroached on every side, stretching for a ways forward and back. Merlin knew the stretch; he'd traveled it himself on his way to Camelot, but he'd at least known enough to take the small paths further inside the forest, hiding from prying eyes. And he'd never traveled at night. The carriage, noble cast, of the castle itself, was bound to have grabbed attention. Was anyone watching them right now, wondering if a nobleman waited inside?

And there. Merlin saw it, used to searching for movement within the trees after so many hunts with Arthur. A quick flicker of a bush. A large shadow darting out from behind a tree. Though Merlin wasn't exactly an expert, so whoever was out there wouldn't have been the type of group to go after the carriage if it had its normal retinue of guards (unless they were stupid, couldn't rule that out), it was obvious whoever was out there was preparing to attack. Merlin turned back to Gwaine, tugging uselessly at his bonds as he did. Jence was obviously outmatched, Gwaine's anger apparently giving him even greater strength. Gwaine swung fast and hard, two hands on the sword, and chased Jence when he danced out of the way.

Merlin squinted through the darkness, trying to find some way to help Gwaine before the bandits attacked. So of course that was when the bandits attacked.

They were either stupid or amateurs, just as Merlin deduced; while those bandits who attacked a group of riding knights at least knew to stay quiet and use the element of surprise, these men jumped out onto the road with shouts and yells. Merlin even saw a couple raise their swords and shake them.

Maybe they were both amateurs  _ and _ idiots.

Gwaine saw them coming, and with one flicker of a glance toward Merlin – toward Merlin's bound hands – he snarled and hacked down. Merlin yelped. Gwaine's sword slashed right under Jence's defense, cutting through his chest. Jence stumbled back, dropped his sword, and fell. Gwaine stepped quickly over him to Merlin's side. “Are you hurt?” he asked. Merlin mutely shook his head. “Stay behind me.”

The bandits, when they attacked Gwaine, attacked like a horde of monkeys, each nearly cutting into one another in their haste to get to him. While it meant they were in disarray, it also meant Gwaine was caught on three sides. He used his sword as a shield and slid away from another attack, elbowing the man before he could reach Merlin. Then he shoved those in front of him away with pure brute force and cut another down. The bandits rallied against him.

Merlin took a couple of steps back, hitting the line of trees, and squinted again. He couldn't see well in the dark; he'd become too used to the constant lights of Camelot. But he thought he could see enough. The men were running from the opposite side of the street to them, and as they came close, they passed under a small canopy of branches. “ _ Forbearnan firgenholt _ .” The sudden fire was bright and unmistakable, and Merlin flinched, even as the branch fell on top of two of the bandits. A couple stopped, looking from Gwaine to Merlin and back. One slid an uneasy glance toward the carriage. The others, however, seemed to be of the opinion that the culprit was Gwaine, and they charged him as one. Merlin wrenched at his bonds and took another step back as Gwaine engaged. It was too dark to make out the exact number of men, though Merlin squinted as best he could. He knew there was a spell to make one see in the dark, but he hadn't learned it yet.

Then one of the bandits went after him, and Merlin had to jump back to avoid the man's axe. He was huge, yet he moved silently; Gwaine didn't even yet look over to find out why Merlin had moved. Merlin shoved the man away with his magic. He flinched again, this time harder; without conducting his magic with words, it seemed the pain was even worse. He panted. The man smacked hard against the trees and rolled, dropping his weapon. Merlin raced over to it and rubbed the cloth binding his wrists over the blade. With a satisfying snap, the linen loosened and he was free.

He jumped back again, ready for the hulking monster of a man to rear up, but he stayed down. Merlin shuffled around in the grass for a second, then threw a stone at the man just in case. The bandit didn't even flinch. Then Merlin saw the blood coating the man's bedraggled hair and sighed. At least the man wouldn't be attacking anymore.

Gwaine, too, seemed to be slowly pushing back his own horde of enemies, and when some saw the giant's prone form on the ground, they turned and fled. Had he been their leader? But at least with less enemies to outmaneuver, Gwaine cut through one, then sliced away another's weapon, and then they all seemed to want to run. Gwaine let them. “And don't come back!” he shouted, because Merlin didn't think the man could go a full day without goading someone, and then he turned back to Merlin. He spied the bear of a man then and paled. “Are you all right?”

Merlin nodded. “He tripped,” he said, and beamed.

Gwaine huffed. “Thank goodness those men were idiots,” he said.

Merlin had to agree. Even with their lack of skill, their sheer numbers might have proven too much. The king had nearly gotten what he'd wanted. “How did you find me? I mean, thank you, thank you so much. But how did you find me?”

Gwaine grinned. “Don't mention it, lover boy.” And Gwaine messed with Merlin's hair, nearly giving him a noogie. The action reminded him of Arthur, of how Arthur had cheered him up after Freya's death. Merlin's insides wrenched and tore at the memory. “Arthur sent me after you while he stormed the keep, so to say. I stole a horse.” He shrugged as if it didn't bother him in the least. It probably didn't.

Merlin giggled as he realized, in a fit of temper, that he didn't rightly care, either. “And Arthur?” he asked. “Did Arthur ask anything of you? Of me?”

Gwaine shook his head. “No,” he said. “He didn't have the time.”

And though it was about what Merlin had expected, still it hurt. He couldn't return to Camelot. At least, not as he was. He would have to return in disguise. And he wouldn't be able to stay by Arthur's side. Not the way he'd been before. But he'd made a promise, and it was one he would keep. Somehow, he would find a way to return to Arthur.

“Hey, don't sweat it, Merlin,” Gwaine said, clapping Merlin on the shoulder. Merlin's legs buckled. “We'll take care of it. I'm sure Arthur's thinking of something.”

But Gwaine's voice didn't hold much hope, and Merlin knew better. “It's the king's order,” he said, even though they both knew that full well. “If Arthur tries to fight it, things will only get worse.”

Gwaine didn't say anything to that. What was there to say? It was the truth. Merlin turned to him. “Still, I have to go back.”

Gwaine frowned. “And how exactly do you propose to do that? The king'll kill you if he sees you. You know that, right? Look, I can take you somewhere safe. At least until the princess sends you a message, yeah? Do you know anywhere you can go?”

Ealdor, he thought, but he shook his head. “I promised Arthur I would stay by his side.”

Gwaine scoffed. Looked at Merlin's resolute face. Sighed. “Geez, I can't believe you. You'll just walk into death for that guy?”

Merlin nodded. “So would you,” he said, and cocked Gwaine a grin. Thankfully, Gwaine returned it.

“Don't tell the man that. He's got a big enough head.”

Merlin laughed.

Suddenly Gwaine grabbed Merlin's shoulder, and at the same instant, Merlin felt something on him spring forward. The tracking spell. He winced as it flowed over him. He hadn't even thought of it. Had it told Morgause of his magic? Did she know?

Gwaine held his sword up, pointed toward where Merlin had stood just a moment before. This time, even Merlin heard the soft sound of rustling leaves. He might have thought of it as just a rabbit scampering home, or perhaps a result of a gust of wind. But Gwaine called out, “who goes there? Step forward.”

Merlin saw her cloak first. It billowed and furled like black fog. Morgause pulled the hood off then, and Merlin saw the bright splash of curls. Gwaine began to lower his sword. “No!” Merlin hissed, but Morgause was already raising her hand, and with nothing more than a flick of her wrist, Gwaine went flying to the side. He smacked into the same tree the bandit leader had, and with a short shout, crumpled down on top of him.

“Gwaine!” Morgause laughed. Merlin's gaze flew back to her.

“Merlin.” She almost seemed like she was sounding out his name. “Nice to meet you again.”

Merlin scuttled back as she stepped closer. He stepped back, hitting the main road. He thought of the carriage and wondered if there was any point in returning to it. Could he use it as a shield? Should he? The guards were still inside. “Morgause,” he said, though he had no idea what to say to her. Tell her to leave him alone? Ask her where Morgana was, and whose side she was on? Demand she leave Arthur alone (useless as the demand would be)?

Before he could decide, she spoke again. “I've heard some interesting rumors. I was hoping you would do me the pleasure of verifying them.”

Merlin lifted his chin. “And what would those rumors be?” he asked, even though he already knew. Maybe if he could get her going long enough, he could take her by surprise. Going, of course, on the hope that she didn't know about his magic. But the way she walked, as if a cat cornering its prey, and her smirk, as if a robin looking down on a worm – would someone look like that if they knew their prey could use magic?

“Oh, I'm sure you know. It does seem to explain why you're in a royal carriage in the middle of the night, bound and beset by bandits.” She grinned. “Did your little prince take you to his bed? Daddy must not have been pleased. How does it feel to be thrown away like trash by the kingdom you nearly gave my sister's life to defend?”

Merlin took a deep breath. And another step back. “Arthur did not throw me aside.”

“Oh?” She made a point of looking around as she removed her hands from beneath her cloak. She wore gloves, long black ones that traveled up her arms. In the deathly darkness, he thought he saw a flowing dress covering her body. He couldn't tell the color; it was too dark. But he thought it might have been a deep red or blue; it certainly wasn't a bright color. “Well then, where is he? Has he not chased after you? Brought you home?” She grinned down on him. With one dainty hand, she pulled off the fingers of her right glove. Slowly, tugging on the last finger, she pulled the long length of it free. Her hand was positively pale compared to the rest of her, darned in deep colors. That pale hand stretched and pointed toward him. “All alone. So sad.”

Merlin prepared a shield, but without a word, she pushed. He felt her magic slam into him. He flew into the air, vertigo twisting him around before he landed hard and flat on his back. His shoulder blades burned where they hit the road. His legs nearly smacked into his forehead, still going while the top half had already landed, before he finally fell straight. He breathed hard as Morgause laughed. “Arthur's little pet. I suppose that explains your actions that day.”

He and Arthur hadn't been together back then, but Merlin couldn't deny that he'd probably felt those feelings since even long before. He heaved himself up onto his elbows. Another hard blast of power shoved him back into the dirt. He gasped for breath as Morgause leaned over him. “I wonder,” she said, her curls dancing down over his face, “how would you feel if I poisoned Arthur?”

Merlin pulled at his magic, struggled to raise his hand. His entire body felt pressed by a great weight. Then Morgause planted one heeled foot on his chest and dug it in. He gasped. “I would lie still if I were you.” As Merlin tried to buck her off, she pulled the other glove off. As if his struggles were nothing. Merlin considered using his magic, but he hesitated. While he'd promised Arthur not to die, he also didn't want her to know. Of all people to know his secret, she was one of the worst. Right up there with Uther, actually.

But what did he have to hide? Uther had already banished him. Morgause was a threat to Arthur. Arthur, who Merlin couldn't protect every moment of every day anymore. It would be best to get rid of her before she could go after him and – as she said herself – poison him. Or worse.

Then he thought of Morgana, of Arthur's concern. Of the fact that no one but Uther knew for sure about his magic.

And then the guards from the carriage stumbled out, swords dragging along the dirt beside them. They didn't do more than look up before Morgause threw them back into the carriage. They slammed into the thing and flipped over its roof. Merlin snapped the magic holding him and wrenched one hand behind himself. Morgause turned to him, her eyes wide with surprise. Merlin arched his back, twisted his hips, and Morgause scowled and pressed harder with her foot for a moment before removing it and leaning down, arms outstretched, to redo the magic bindings. Merlin yanked his arm up from behind him and, his magic slowing time for him, thrust Arthur's dagger in her chest, just above and between her breasts.

Morgause stopped. She made a horrid, rending noise in the back of her throat.

Merlin let go of the weapon and scuttled out from beneath her. “Tell me where Morgana is,” he said. He tried to keep his hands from shaking. The effort cost him control over his voice. “Tell me, and I'll try to heal you.”

Morgause slowly gripped the hilt of the dagger. She looked down at it, her face slack, disbelieving. When she looked back up, there was something wicked glinting in her eyes. “I... will burn you,” she said. And with a shriek and a gale of wind, she disappeared.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, and Merlin pulled, trying to escape, trying to turn and face the enemy. He yanked his magic to the fore, ready to hurl Morgause away.

“Enough! Calm yourself.”

Merlin blinked at stared up, up into the eyes of one of the guards. The man's sword had been lost somewhere between the front of the carriage and the back, and one of his eyes was shut against the steady stream of blood slicing down it. Merlin found no malice in the man's one-eyed stare or the firm grip of his hand. “What? Are...” He swallowed and tried to stand. His knees shook. He looked the man over; he gripped Merlin with his left hand, and Merlin finally saw that his right was bent at an awkward angle. He cleared his throat. “You're hurt.”

“The witch,” the man said, and shrugged. His lips tugged down. “Get up; we must move before she returns.”

Merlin nearly looked toward Gwaine, but he stopped. He didn't know if Gwaine was all right or not, but if he was, Merlin pointing out his presence could land the both of them in worse waterS. Like death. “Bandits,” he said, but the man just pulled Merlin up. Merlin stumbled. His legs felt like jelly. For the first time in his life, he'd stabbed someone. He didn't even know if Morgause was alive or dead – if she was alive, was she going after Arthur? His heart froze at the thought, then pounded a hard, unsteady rhythm. He grabbed the guard's hand. “Arthur,” he said. At the man's look, Merlin cleared his throat. “The prince,” he amended. “He could be in danger. She – she threatened him. You have to go back.”

The man snorted. “I have orders,” he said, and though there seemed to be a new ounce of regret in that tone, there was no hesitation.

“I'll wait here with this man,” Merlin said. “There's no point in me trying to return,” he said at the guard's incredulous face. “I'll wait here with him – after I look at your arm. But Arthur could be in danger. That's more important than anything! You have to go to him! Tie me up if you have to. Stab me if you have to!” he said, thinking he would have to heal himself if the man actually chose to do so. “But you have to go to him and make sure he's safe!”

The guard frowned harder. He looked back toward the carriage, where his cohort had yet to sidle from. Merlin ripped off a piece of his shirt. The man turned back to him, not seeming to know whether to glower or stare. “Here,” Merlin said. “I need something...” He looked around, finally spotting the sheathe of Arthur's dagger. “There!” He bent and picked the thing up. “Okay. This is going to hurt horribly, but I have to set the bone back.” He made the man sit and grabbed his arm, right there in the middle of the main road in the middle of the night. He felt at the bone in the man's upper arm. Yes, it was definitely broken, and he was too terrified about what Morgause could be doing to Arthur in retaliation for Merlin stabbing her to worry about finesse or the guard's comfort. “Ready? One.” And he yanked the bone back in place. In the guard's defense, he did little more than grunt and squeeze his eyes closed. If Merlin saw the glint of a tear in the corner of the man's eyes, he was too polite to point it out. “There,” he said, and quickly placed the sheathe against the man's arm and wrapped it with the scrap from his shirt. He ripped another wide piece and wrapped it around the arm and the man's neck, getting uncomfortably close to the guard as he did. The man didn't so much as twitch.

Merlin sat back. “There. You're done. Now go!”

The guard frowned. “I can't just leave my post,” he began, but Merlin cut him off.

“Tie me to a tree, or to the other guard. Stab me in the shoulder, break my legs, whatever you have to do! She could be attacking Arthur as we speak!”

The guard stood, and Merlin let the man loom over him. Anything that made the guard think he was weak and useless. Perhaps a useless endeavor, as the man had obviously caught him stabbing Morgause. Why else would he even be listening to anything Merlin had to say?

“You really love the prince, don't you?” the man asked, his voice gruff.

He nodded, not caring who knew it anymore. It was too late for it to change anything, anyway. “Please. Do whatever you must with me. Just protect him.”

The guard didn't seem fully convinced, but he grabbed Merlin's arms and yanked him up. Merlin let himself be manhandled back to the carriage, even though the thing was still an attack waiting to happen. The guard looked around, finally grabbing the curtains. Merlin just sat down on the door of the carriage as it lay uselessly on its side and watched, his chest burning. He could still feel Morgause's trace on him, and he was certain that meant she was still alive. If she'd gone after Arthur... if she was after him, there was no one by his side to protect him. What if he was in the dungeon, kept in holding to make sure he didn't run after Merlin? His muscles locked. “Check the dungeons,” he said when the guard returned to him. The man gave him a funny look. “He might have tried to fight the king,” he said, trying to explain. “He shouldn't – it's not going to help; he shouldn't do anything like that, but he might have because he's a clotpole and a prat but he's a loyal clotpole and prat.” He felt his fingers shaking and didn't know if it was due to shock or fear. “Check the dungeons if you can't find him.” He looked up as the man tied Merlin's hands together again with one curtain. The second tied him to the edge of the bench where a small railing of sorts sat along the edge of the seat. “Find him,” he whispered.

“I will,” the man said. “I will stop the witch if I must draw my last breath.”

Merlin looked up. Thank goodness. Thank everything. This man, this one guard who the king had chosen for this venture, was loyal to the crown. He gave the man a big grin. “Thank you.”

The man frowned again, but he nodded and hopped out of the carriage. Merlin heard him walk around to the other side of the carriage, heard him pick up something metal – his sword, no doubt. Then he heard the man cut one of the horses free and ride.

_Hurry. Faster_ . Merlin pushed the man forward, used his magic heedlessly to help the horse run tirelessly, no longer caring if Morgause knew. It was too late if she did, no matter if she didn't.

And so he was left in the carriage, sitting on the door, wrists tied to the bench. It would be easy to pull them loose with magic if he must. So why did the man do such a horrible job of holding him down? It didn't matter. Merlin could pull free and run to Camelot, but what then? He might make it in time, if he grabbed a horse and ran back. And then what?

That didn't matter, either. With one small word, he unraveled the man's knots and hurried to the second horse. Then he stopped, turned to the second guard. The man was alive, but bleeding profusely. Merlin sacrificed the rest of his shirt to stop the man's bleeding. He didn't know many healing spells, and he wasn't good at them, anyway, but he tried. Then he ran to Gwaine and checked him, as well, infinitely glad the man had suffered little more than a goose egg on the back of his head. Merlin soothed his pain as best he could, but Gwaine didn't wake, even when Merlin shook him gently and called his name, and he just didn't have time for more.

He ran back to the horse and struggled to get on it bareback. The thing squealed and danced away, and he had to talk to it for an interminable minute before it finally accepted him onto its back. He pointed it back to Camelot and dug his feet into its sides. It galloped off, and with a few more words, he helped it find a greater store of stamina. Yet still, it felt like the horse moved too slowly, and Merlin knew without doubt that he would be too late, no matter what he did.

 


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. About those best-made plans.

Taste Me In Unequaled Thoughts

Part III

* * *

His father had lost his mind.

Arthur had no other excuse for the madness Uther had just unleashed. Not only breaking his oath to leave Merlin unharmed, but sending him out before Arthur could do more than hear of Merlin being called to the throne room. Seeing as Uther's leak of the knowledge of Merlin's magic hadn't worked, rumored as it had been and nothing more, the man had turned to Merlin being Arthur's lover as an excuse for banishment. Arthur hadn't believed it, listening to his father berate him for his indiscreet actions with Merlin the last few nights. As if they'd done more than sleep. As if it mattered! Merlin was more than just a sexual partner. He was Arthur's consort, named by Arthur himself. While he wasn't officially wed, the word held meaning when announced by royalty. Yet Uther dismissed it as if it were nothing.

And Merlin, going to see his king as ordered, was pulled from the room by men and taken, he was told by the servant who brought him his food, to a carriage, where he was to be led from the castle into exile.

Arthur hurt, thinking of Merlin, scared and alone, taken from his home without even the chance to say goodbye to his friends, to Gaius, to  _Arthur_ , pulled like a prisoner simply because Arthur hadn't been able to control his nightmares of Merlin's still, pale, corpse-like flesh.

But no. Uther would have found any excuse. Arthur's weaknesses weren't the issue. Not in this instant.

And to go so far – to break his oath so thoroughly. Not only throwing Merlin away, but sending him out in a royal carriage in the dead of night. No escort, no knight protection. Nothing. Only a fool would believe Merlin to be safe.

Merlin had his magic, yes. But it wasn't infallible. And Uther knew of it, too; he would have made sure to have countermeasures in place. And Merlin, bound and helpless, would be met with bandits.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, even as he paced uselessly in his room, trapped in it like a prison cell. He was uselessly stuck while Merlin found himself beset by enemies and the pain of losing everything. And what could Arthur do about it? He'd tried fighting with his father, reasoning, threatening. And finally he'd been dragged away from the king, deemed 'not of sound mind' and thrown in his room. Guards loyal to Uther stood outside this very instant, just waiting for him to try to escape.

What if Merlin was already dead? What if all his worrying was for nothing?

He covered his face. No, he couldn't think like that. Thinking like that was like experiencing death. He couldn't. He couldn't do it. Merlin was alive. He had to believe it. Yet he knew what happened on battlefields. Even the best knights could fall to luck, to chance. One man's blade could slide into anyone, no matter whom. A fool's blade could pierce the best of knights if enough were aimed at him. And Merlin in that carriage at night, hands bound, Uther's measures in place to keep him from using his magic... he wouldn't be able to grab the dagger, even if he had it on him – did he have it on him? Arthur should have asked. Yet it wouldn't matter; Merlin wouldn't be able to grab it in time.

No. No. Gwaine. He'd sent Gwaine after Merlin, told him to do whatever he must, that he had Arthur's permission to do whatever needed to get to Merlin's side. Gwaine would reach him in time.

But then what? Fight Uther's guards? Become blacklisted for attacking Camelot's men? Merlin was already exiled.

 _Exiled_. And his mind nipped down that one last path, that horrible path that said that even if Gwaine met up with him, even if he was saved from bandits and Uther's men, he couldn't return. Not with Uther's order in place. And Uther would never take it back. Never.

Arthur stopped pacing and covered his face. No. He needed to think of something. Merlin would stay alive. He would keep his promise to stay alive, and Arthur needed to make sure he made it possible for Merlin to keep his other promise, his promise to remain by Arthur's side.

Gods. He scrubbed his face. And if Gwaine did meet up with him and save him from an attack from bandits? Could Gwaine protect Merlin from Morgause, who at this very moment was tracking him, waiting for the chance to strike, to take him from Arthur? His heart thudded in his chest as he considered the thought. No. Gwaine wouldn't stand a chance. Would Merlin? Was Merlin's magic strong enough to defend against Morgause's powers? Morgause, who could call the Knights of Medir from their eternal slumber?

He needed to think of a way to get Uther to allow Merlin back. Before it was too late.

He looked around. The room was still semi-clean from Merlin's – no, gods, he couldn't think of it, he just couldn't. If he did, he would start looking at his armor again, the weapons taken when the guards saw them within. All of them sparkling to perfection. Merlin had been taking care of them again, and Arthur would think, once more, on how Merlin always made sure, no matter how lazy he was with everything else, that Arthur's armor was perfect, clean, not rusted, each link secure, every buckle strong, every piece of metal undented, how he would check over every weapon, slide the sharpening stone over the weapons until they cut his thumb simply touching the edge, how he would shine them until they gleamed, cradle them, nearly coo at them, because nothing to Merlin was more important than Arthur coming out of every battle unscathed, no matter how much he complained about having to constantly clean them. Because, just maybe, Merlin complained about cleaning them not because it was difficult and redundant, but because he didn't like the thought of Arthur being in a battle to begin with.

And if he thought of that, then he might remember all of the times Merlin had admitted that he was Arthur's, that everything he did was for Arthur, that he would give his life, his soul, his very sanity for Arthur. How his magic, hated in Camelot, lauded to be nothing but evil, used by evil men, for evil deeds, evil purposes, only harm and ruin coming from its tongue and touch, how every time he used it, it was for Arthur's sake. How Merlin was magic, and magic was Merlin, and Merlin was his.

And if he thought about that, he would think about how his father hated magic, and thus hated Merlin, even though Merlin had done nothing but save Arthur's life over and over again, both his life and his soul, too, because Arthur had bullied his own people before Merlin came along and showed him who he was and who he could be.

And if he thought that, the rage would bubble within him anew, and he would want his father's head off his shoulders. And Merlin had been found out because he'd saved Arthur's life, and Uther's, and if Merlin, magical, hated Merlin could spare Uther's life, then Arthur had to be at least as good.

But Arthur still wished he had a weapon, his sword at the very least, because Merlin, his most precious of people, was in danger, and there was absolutely nothing Arthur could do as he was.

Never before had he wanted the throne. Never before had he wanted his father's time to come, for Arthur's time to come. It was horrible, and heady, and terrifying, that he wanted to change the kingdom he loved in order to save it. He'd never needed Merlin's random words of wisdom more.

Merlin. Merlin. Had he been killed yet? Captured? Prince, yet powerless. What use was his crown if it hadn't the power to protect?

Someone knocked on his door, and almost Arthur railed at them, cursed as he had when he'd first been confined. He wanted to throw something, to scream, to destroy anything and everything that came between him and freedom, him and Merlin, him and anything that tried to keep him from doing what was right. But he swallowed it all back, because what good would it do him? And yelling at a servant – for it had to be a servant – would solve nothing. The servant wouldn't deserve the abuse.

He nearly chuckled at the thought, thinking back on what he'd been like before Merlin. Such a horrible thing to think about.

"Come in," he said, furious and humiliated that the words meant nothing, that he had no say over who came and went in and out of his own chambers. He nearly jolted when the door opened and Gwen stepped inside. He stared at her with wide eyes as she curtsied at him, food held in her hands even though he'd eaten only a couple of hours ago.

She kept her gaze on him as she moved toward the table, until finally the guards closed the door behind her. Then she dropped the plate on the table and hurried to his side. "Arthur!" she whispered. "I heard about what happened to Merlin. What's going on?"

Arthur had to close his eyes. Of course Gwen knew about it; by now, the whole castle, possibly the entire city, knew about what had happened. The feeling of rage drew through him once again. "Merlin was exiled for being my lover," he said, teeth gritted, and was hardly gratified by Gwen's loud gasp. "Uther sent him away."

"Oh, Arthur." She touched his arm, but she said nothing else. There was nothing more to be said. She bit her lip. "What did Merlin say?"

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't get the chance to speak with him." He chuckled humorlessly. "Not that it would matter. I can imagine him. 'Don't worry about it, Arthur. It's fine.'" Just thinking about it made Arthur want to smash something. "I have to get him back, Gwen."

She nodded immediately. "The king has seemed angry over Merlin's presence for a while," she said, a bit carefully. "There have been rumors – ridiculous ones, but I think the king believes them to be true. Because he doesn't know him. Merlin. The king doesn't know Merlin, so – not that the king is ridiculous! Just the rumors – but–"

Arthur held up his hand, and Gwen gratefully stopped. "Whether the rumors are true or not, whatever they are, does not concern me," he said, carefully keeping from saying anything about Merlin's magic.  _Merlin's magic_. Words that he'd once never thought to hear or speak or consider now felt normal, almost sacred. He took a deep breath. "Merlin is loyal to me. He's shown that over and over again. For his loyalty to be rewarded with  _this_. It's inexcusable." Not to mention that his father had sent the man he loved away, not trusting Arthur to truly feel such an emotion for anyone Uther didn't choose.

The problem was that Merlin was guilty of the 'crime.' Though they hadn't done anything recently, they had before, and Arthur had certainly wanted to do so again, as soon as Merlin didn't look at him with wide eyes whenever Arthur expressed concern for him. And while Arthur had fought against the rumors of Merlin's magic as best he could, it didn't change the fact that yes, Merlin had magic, and yes, Arthur was now complicit in keeping it secret. Merlin had been exiled because he was with Arthur and, secretly, because he was a sorcerer. Arthur couldn't argue either point. He'd named Merlin his consort, but without any official...

He straightened. That was it. That was it – there was something he could do.

He turned to Gwen. "Gwen. I'm going to need your help."

She nodded. "Anything, Arthur."

A small frisson went up his spine, her words bringing to mind Merlin's words once again. It took him a moment to clear his head of the echoes of Merlin's own fealty. "I need you to..." He stopped and held up his hand. He'd heard something. At first he wondered if it was a scuttling noise, and feared he and Gwen were in danger from another one of those creatures, the one that Merlin had caught in his magic. But then logic clamped down hard and his gut twisted. Why enter the castle and send enemies after him when Arthur would willingly leave the castle all on his own in order to take Merlin back?

A message? His gut sank straight through the floor. Had the rustling sound been a piece of paper?

And then a form shivered before him, and even as he pulled Gwen back behind him and shouted for the guards outside his room, the wind whipped and bellowed and someone stepped forward. Someone small, feminine, and wrapped in a deep velvet cloak. The hood was down, and Arthur thought he could see something strange about her chest. The wind cleared just in time for him to see a hilt –  _his_  hilt, from his dagger, and the riotous blond curls, before one hand waved imperiously to the side and Arthur went flying. He crashed into his table, then the wall. The armor Merlin had painstakingly polished pelted the floor.

Outside his room, Arthur heard the guards shout.

He struggled to his feet, the table broken and collapsed into pieces beneath and before him. He grabbed the wall. Gwen shouted something, and he turned to her in time to see her swing a table leg at Morgause. She, too, was flicked away. Yet Arthur's heart, pounding nearly out of his chest, wasn't even for her safety, even as he shouted for her, and certainly not for his own.

That dagger was the one he'd given Merlin.

He had no weapon, but he had his shield, and he launched forward and grabbed it as Morgause turned back to him. With one roll, he was in front of Gwen's prone form, and he held up his shield as Morgause shrieked and threw – threw  _something_  at him, something blue and bright like an unnatural fire. The shield caught its blow.

The guards finally opened his door, and he shouted, "sorceress!" as a warning. But though they had already pulled out their swords, one thrown arm tossed them back through the doorway. Arthur hesitated, unwilling to leave Gwen behind.

He heard a groan then, a soft, almost whimpering sound, and said, "Gwen, get up!"

He heard her jolt. "Arthur?" Then he felt her hand on his shoulder, one firm squeeze, and he stood. Gwen's skirt rustled behind him. He stared out over his shield. Yes, that hilt of Merlin's dagger had sunk deep into her skin. He couldn't see past the cloak hiding Morgause's body, but she had to have lost a substantial amount of blood, even with the dagger holding the worst of it inside. And from where it was positioned, it would be a miracle if it hadn't nicked a lung. He hoped it had. "Where is Merlin?"

She chuckled, the sound wet enough to tell him it had nicked a lung, after all. She bent nearly in half. The cloak made her look fat, almost humpbacked, like a hag. "Yes, your precious little prostitute." Arthur snarled at the insult. "He seemed to be having a hard time. So many bandits, so little time." She looked around at all the lit candles in Arthur's room, their wicks low, testament to Arthur's restless movements these past few hours. She chuckled again. "So few friends."

If it weren't for Gwen behind him, he would have launched himself at her. Had that been a threat? Had there been a double meaning? What had happened to Gwaine? And what did she mean by 'hard time'? Had the inevitable bandit attack occurred, or had she just seen them on their way to attack him? Had Uther's men harmed him? Was he even now injured and alone, waiting for Morgause to return? Or... but her words didn't speak of death. And if Merlin were dead, Morgause wouldn't have come. She wouldn't have needed to. She would have left Merlin's body for someone to find, and Arthur would have eventually heard of it, if only because Uther wouldn't understand why Arthur wasn't 'healed' from the 'enchantment.'

Arthur didn't want to think what his father would be willing to do to 'cure' him.

Arthur didn't want to know what  _he_  would do, if he were to find that his father's actions had led Merlin to his death.

Morgause wheezed in a breath, clutching the dagger in her fist, and Arthur grabbed Gwen's arm and made for the door. Morgause thrust out her hand, and Arthur used his shield to block, but nothing shot out at him. Instead some force pushed against him, and he skidded back, thankfully toward the door. He lost his grip on Gwen. Something clanged beneath his foot, and he bent down to grab the sword one of the guards had dropped. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, one of them get to his feet. "Warn the castle!" he shouted, and the man hesitated for only a moment before doing as told. Arthur searched for Gwen.

She stood just opposite Morgause, and were it not for Morgause taking the moment to rip out the dagger embedded in her flesh, Gwen's defenseless position in the middle of Arthur's room would have granted her almost certain death. Arthur ran back to her, much calmer now with a weapon in hand, and barely dodged the dagger as Morgause sent it streaming toward him. He turned his dodge into a roll as Morgause's gaze returned to him. He got up awkwardly, the shield hampering his movements. Against magic, however, he couldn't afford to drop it.

Gwen, for her part, scampered quickly back behind him, and Arthur made once more for the door as Morgause put a hand to her chest. He still couldn't see the blood past her cloak, but he could hear it now, dripping and sloshing down to the floor. A puddle grew around Morgause's feet. Her lips pulled back in a snarl.

She seemed to be trying to heal herself. Arthur couldn't let her. That blow had been dealt by Merlin; Arthur wouldn't let it go to waste. "Gwen, get to safety," he said. Gwen didn't bother arguing, or asking him what he would do. She merely ran. Arthur planted himself in front of her, shield held before him. But Morgause let Gwen go, her hand still on her chest. He thought he heard her mumbling. What was she doing? A spell? He wouldn't give her the chance.

He twisted the sword in his hand, quickly getting the weight of it, then charged. Morgause hopped back until she touched the wall. Her teeth, when she pulled her lips back, were red.  _"Besweðe in bæl!"_

Arthur lifted his shield, but instead of slamming against him, the spell swirled around his feet. Heat first, and then light, and flames burst in a circle, rising to his knees. He kept his shield up, ready for another attack, or perhaps for the flames to tear into him, but they only kept him in place. As if that wasn't bad enough.

He barely saw Morgause beyond the flames, but what he did see of her made him snarl. She pressed her hand once more to her chest, stumbled a bit, and said,  _"_ _Á_ _séowe_ _beclýse."_ And he knew she was healing herself of Merlin's wound.

Merlin, who had stabbed her but not stopped her. Merlin who may or may not be injured, surrounded, battling even as Arthur stood against the fire and heat, armor stinging his skin.

He swung his sword into the flames. While the flames didn't turn his sword white-hot or light it on fire or whatever else magic might be capable of doing, the slice did nothing to the fire. It was too high, up to his waist, too strong, almost an orange wall. The smoke billowed to the ceiling of his room. Ridiculously, he imagined Merlin struggling to reach the ceiling far above to get the smoke stains out.

Gods. Merlin. Arthur couldn't afford to waste time here.

He couldn't just go through the flames, but he could use them. He ducked further behind his shield, then ripped off a piece of his shirt and tied it into a ball. He ripped off another piece, and another, as Morgause huffed and clutched her chest, until she finally stood straight.  _Thank you_ , Arthur thought, trying to send his gratitude to Merlin. If not for him, he never would have had the time to make his weapons.

And better, Morgause, breathing heavily as if having run a marathon, spoke. "This is perhaps better," she said. "Not quite as good as making the servant lead you to your destruction, but the best plan. How better to destroy both Uther Pendragon and that boy that to kill the one they love? And we'll be one step closer to destroying Camelot."

For an instant, his fury rose, nearly higher than he could control. Hurt Uther and Merlin by hurting him? He would not be Camelot's weakness. He was its  _prince_. A prince had to be a country's  _strength_. He couldn't allow himself to fall to this woman and her magic.

And then he realized she'd said  _we_  and nearly faltered, thinking of Morgana and what Merlin had told him.  _We_. Could Morgana really be a part of all this? Had Morgana really turned her back on them all?

Despite having believed Merlin, he found himself stunned all over again by the idea of it. Of Morgana, stalwart, independent Morgana, the woman who threw her righteousness down other people's throats, somehow turned wicked. But even as his mind rebelled against it, he remembered Merlin's face when he'd told Arthur – that hurt, resigned, I-wish-it-wasn't-true look that he'd seen when Merlin had warned him of Valiant, of the unicorn's curse, of the fact that his men hadn't survived his battle with the dragon. It was that look that had first made him start to believe.

And now there may be truth to Merlin's worst fears. If Morgana had joined with Morgause, then what would that mean for all of them? Arthur hurt enough thinking of how different Morgana would be, how her sense of righteousness might change to vengeance, fury. She'd always had a sharp temper, sharper even than his, because she held grudges like no one else he'd ever known. And if she had magic? What would she do to Camelot?

And he couldn't help it; he thought of Uther. Of his father's pain and fury when he found out about Morgana, about how she might have changed. And though he himself could understand what such a switch might have been caused by – the fear, the terror, the way Merlin had looked at Arthur as if expecting Arthur to take up his sword and bury it in Merlin's chest – he already knew his father wouldn't. His father would blame the magic. And if he did, what would stop him from hunting Merlin down and making sure...

But that might not be a problem, because, thanks to Uther's actions, Merlin might already be hurt or dying. Or worse.

Arthur looked toward the sorceress as she stood straight before him, and he lobbed one wadded ball of fabric through the top of the flames. It barely caught on fire, and she pushed it away – toward his table, he thought, using his sword to hide his grin. As she raised her hand again, he threw another, and then a third, just as she tossed the second away. The flames jumped higher, just for an instant, nearly lighting the wadded fabric into ash. Instead it sailed through with the fire coursing up and down its length, and though Morgause tossed it aside, as well, this time toward the windows – Arthur hoped some of his knights saw it – tiny sparks shot away with the blast. Even through the fire surrounding him, he saw one bit land on her cloak. As she stamped it out, he threw his last one and surged forward, holding his shield as if the fire were a raging beast.

He slammed his shield onto the floor the instant he made the barrier, and thankfully, the fire, though it raged on either side of the shield as if reaching claws out on either side, dampened enough for him to roll through it, toward Morgause. Only when he got his feet back from under him did he see that she was muttering something to douse the fire on her clothes. Good. Success. He used his roll for momentum and got as close to Morgause as he dared. She looked up just as he swung his sword, yet still she managed to shoot him away. When she did, her eyes glowed gold.

His shield had only partially been up, and it actually acted as detriment now; caught sideways in the wind, it flung him spinning to his left. He smashed into the wall and crumpled, the shield a heavy weight beneath him. He shrugged it off as he stood, forgoing its uses for speed.

The table had, somewhere along the line, caught on fire.

Arthur watched the trail of flames inch up the leg of the table, the small rag of his shirt little more than an ashy scrap. The fire spread to the top of the table and the nearest chair. Good. He looked back to Morgause.

She didn't seem too concerned about the fire. She didn't seem too concerned about anything, really. But Arthur saw the smoke building up in the room and felt a frisson of hope.

Morgause mumbled something, her palm held out toward him, and now, without his shield, he was able to dodge. Sharp needles formed in the air and shot toward where he'd stood. Then again, and he listened as she spoke –  _"áþræw pílas"_  – and dodged just as the spikes shot out at him. This time, however, he bumped his shoulder into his bed. It slowed his roll just enough that a spike embedded itself in his leg. He hissed. But then he heard, over the roar of the flames, someone shouting about fire in the prince's room, and if there wasn't help coming before, there certainly would be then.

Morgause's face contorted into something hideous, and she screeched. "I will not let this go!" she shouted. Her hands both raised. "I will not let you win!"

She raised her hands, something mad in her eye. The smoke from the table billowed to the ceiling. "Sire!" someone shouted, and though Arthur did not turn to look, he knew his knights had arrived. They gathered around him, even as the fire in the middle of his room blazed and the smoke curled around him. "Your orders?" That someone spoke again, and this time Arthur recognized the voice as Kay's.

"Stop her," he said, just as she started speaking again.

" _Besweðe Arthur Pendragon heorte en bæl!"_ Kay attacked, even as Arthur suddenly found the fire to dim in comparison to the new flames jumping out at him. Within him. Someone else shouted something – a new person outside his door, and then the booming voice of his father. Arthur staggered. His knights screamed.

Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he wrenched the hand off, ready to stab whoever it was through. But even through the too-bright light and the heat burning in his chest, he could see the frightened, almost angry gaze of one of his men – no, no, it was Leopold, one of those against Merlin's presence in the castle – but the man still grabbed his shoulder again and dragged him from the room. His father took his place, barking orders to his men. And as Arthur watched, Morgause shouted more gibberish to the sky. His knights flew to all corners of his room. One fell into the ring of fire. He screamed and screamed.

Then Arthur was outside his room, and the smoke no longer fogged his vision or burned his throat. Instead his chest felt hot, burning hot and tight, all at once, as if someone had clamped it with a hot poker. He shook in a wheezing breath.

"Sire. Sire, are you all right?" Then, in a voice almost too low for Arthur to hear over the yelling, "I can't believe he was right."

Arthur clutched his chest. Though he thought he could see much better now, his eyes still swum. Tears from the smoke? He coughed, but he didn't think it was from inhaling too much of the thick gas. Morgause laughed, then shrieked. And then Arthur heard nothing.

He looked at the hall, how normal it seemed – other than the smoke curling out from his room. He heard his father, still shouting orders. Someone – Leopold again – shook his shoulder. "Sire?"

Arthur waved him off. He heard his father raging, saw men race out. They shouted for water. Trying to douse the flames, then. Could they? Could magical flames be so easily doused? If Merlin were here, he could actually ask him, and he could get an answer. The thought surprised him, then amazed him, then hurt him. Then infuriated him. He wanted to walk inside his room and take his sword to his father's throat. He wanted to hunt Merlin down and chain him to his side. He wanted to demand answers and questions to everything, anything he could think of, and berate Merlin uselessly for not knowing the answers to them all.

He heaved a breath, then pulled himself to his feet. His chest felt like it was searing apart. He trembled. "Sire, did the witch hurt you?"

He thought to speak, to answer in some way, but when he opened his mouth, his entire body scorched. He clamped his lips shut to keep down the mewling sounds bubbling in his throat.

"Arthur."

His father stepped out of his room, undoubtedly to demand he go do something, hunt Morgause down or tend to his tattered rooms, but when his father saw him, the man paled and hurried to his side. The movement shocked a spark of warmth in Arthur, despite everything.

Then Uther was shouting for more men to come, and for Leopold to grab Arthur and lift him. "You did well," Uther said, and Arthur steadied his gaze on him as other knights came to grab him as if he wasn't already standing perfectly well on his own two feet. His father, however, wasn't looking at him anymore. He was turned to Leopold. "It's good you came back. That woman might have done far worse if you hadn't come to warn us."

Leopold nodded, then, with a small voice, said, "the boy warned me, m'lord. He said I needed to go to Arthur, even if I had to stab him to do it."

Arthur closed his eyes. Merlin. He was speaking of Merlin. And if he was still alive – please, please let him still be alive – then Arthur was going to punch him in the face for saying such a thing.

Uther nodded. "And did you?"

Arthur's heart thundered at the very suggestion, and he glared murder at Leopold as he moved to help pick Arthur up. Arthur tried to struggle out from his men's hands, but he still couldn't breathe properly and his knees finally gave out. His men hoisted him up, but Leopold, at least, recognized the warning for what it was and stepped back. "No, sire. I was ordered to send him into exile. I didn't think you would be pleased if I..."

Uther shook his head, and though his lips thinned a bit, he didn't argue with the man's statement. Arthur glared at his father, too. He'd sworn to not harm Merlin. As far as Arthur was concerned, his father had broken the sacred oath of a knight. "No, it's well done that you didn't. The boy was to be sent home." He stared at Arthur, then motioned the men holding Arthur forward. "Take him to Gaius. Quickly. You. Tell me where the boy was left."

Left? What did that mean? Arthur twisted, flopping like a half-dead fish, to try to make out what his knight and his father might be saying to one another. Left could mean a hundred different things. Wounded. Safe. Dead, or left as good as. Tied up, defenseless against brigands in the middle of the woods? Left in or beside a noble carriage with no protection whatsoever?

But the burning, scalding flame in his chest only got hotter, and bigger, and he finally found he couldn't really breathe much at all. His men, hearing his horrid wheezing, perhaps, stole down the steps to Gaius' chambers fast enough that, if Arthur was dropped, he would likely tumble down the rest of the steps and break his neck.

But his knights got him down safely, and when they kicked against the door, Gaius was already there. Even with black spots forming in his vision, Arthur could see the old man had suffered at least as much as he; bloodshot eyes, ragged hair, sagging countenance. Yet when the physician saw him, he stood from his door and waved the men inside, closing the door with a slam behind them. His patient's table, always clear unless Merlin had dumped his things on it –  _Merlin_ , Arthur thought, and wanted to rage and tear and destroy everything until he could see with his own eyes, feel with his own hands, that his idiot servant sorcerer was all right. Instead he was laid down on the cot, and as Arthur sucked on his own throat, Gaius stood over him, demanding to know what had happened. The burn traveled up Arthur's chest, past his throat, and started burning his tongue. He felt it take an equal dive to his guts. They roiled like he might vomit.

"We don't quite know," one of the knights said. "He was attacked by a sorceress. She must have used a spell on him."

Gaius' face, at that news, was grim. "Very well. You, bring me clean water. You, go fetch some tea; he'll soon become dehydrated, if he keeps sweating like that."

Sweating? Gaius put a hand on his forehead as Arthur's men ran to obey Gaius' decrees. Gaius' frown seemed to drag his entire face down to the earth. "Sire, can you hear me?"

Arthur managed to nod. His mouth, however, flapped like a carp. He motioned to his chest and tried to mimic fire with fingers alone. Gaius' frown merely deepened. It was a small miracle his chin wasn't dripping onto the floor. "I will do my best, sire, but you should know that, even though he is not yet well learned in the healing arts, Merlin is a much stronger sorcerer than myself."

Gaius left his side for a moment, and the black spots turned into something hazier. Like his entire vision was dropping to a pinpoint of light. He sucked in half a breath and felt his lungs heave in his chest. The motion made the fire more like touching the sun's core. His hands shook.

But he couldn't fall unconscious easily. Oh, no. Some horrible ruckus was making itself known outside Gaius' window, down far below in the streets. It rang discordant in his ears, and then it finally disappeared. Gaius came back, something in his hands, and pressed it against his chest. Whatever it was, it was warm and smelled absolutely awful, and he started coughing. It made his vision go black. The burning got worse. "As I feared," he heard as if from very far away. The pungent something left. He couldn't breathe.

"Hold on, sire." Gaius went away again, but he was back again in moments. " _Alúttre þá séochnis_." Gaius cleared his throat. Somehow, while everything else seemed to come to him as if from a dream, that one sound cut through him like sandpaper. He spoke again, but this time Arthur couldn't hear it. He thought there might be something going on again, this time closer. And then Gaius was gone once more.

This was how he was going to die? How ignoble. Not even a quick, honorable death on a battlefield, but on a table from a spell cast by a woman already defeated, throwing a final blow. He wondered how it would have gone if Merlin were there. How many times had he been facing this end, only for Merlin to somehow stop it? Gaius had called Merlin powerful, after all. And even though the idea of Merlin wielding any sort of power without somehow twisting his hands around and managing to slam himself back with his own magic was absurd, he knew nothing else could explain how Merlin had paused his own body in time.

And here he was, on the brink of death, not even thinking to wonder how his kingdom would go on without an heir to the throne. And yet, how he wished he could have helped lead Camelot forward.

Something touched his chest, and somehow it was cool and light, and he heard words. " _Ahlúttre þá séocnes."_  And with a horrible rush of frozen air, Arthur's world burst into light.

He turned on his side and gulped in breath after breath. Some hand rubbed circles on his back. He couldn't even find the strength to shove the hand off. Besides, it felt nice.

His heart pounded so loudly it would have taken up his entire hearing if his ears hadn't been ringing so loudly. The world seemed so much wider, brighter, broader than ever before. And yet he didn't think there was enough air in the room to sustain him. And then he thought there was too much air, and it was burning his lungs again. Only this burning was one he knew, as if he'd been holding his breath underwater for a long, long time.

And finally he heard voices.

"I don't know if it was her or not. I was told only 'sorcerer.'"

Gaius. Was Gaius the one rubbing circles on his back? But he sounded a bit too far away, further to Arthur's right than he should be. And it didn't feel like Gaius, anyway, even though the man hadn't touched him like this since he'd been sick as a child.

"It had to have been her. I knew she would go to him when she failed to grab me. I just – thank the gods I arrived in time."

 _Merlin_.

Gaius cleared his throat again, and once more, that sound grated on Arthur's ears. His heart still pounded in his chest, but this time, it was for a different reason. "Did you have to be so harsh?"

"They were keeping me from him," Merlin said easily. "You said he was dying. And he was." Arthur opened his eyes, even though he didn't quite feel ready to face the world. Princes just had to suck that sort of thing up.

He couldn't see much, lying on his side on Gaius' table, but he managed to see enough. Gaius' chambers looked a bit too messy for the man, and though Arthur would be willing to blame Merlin for parts of that, it wouldn't explain the broken beakers and vials or the books strewn on the floor. But then again, it also wouldn't explain the guard lying face-first on the ground. Arthur struggled to get up, but that soothing hand suddenly became a vice. "No, Arthur, don't get up yet."

Merlin's order was probably for the best, considering how the world suddenly tilted on its side and started swaying to and fro. But he snarled anyway. "What happened?" He tried to gesture to his fallen man, but his arm flopped uselessly. It was too heavy at the moment to lift. He settled on getting his breathing to steady.

"They tried to bar me from the room," Merlin said. Even without looking, Arthur knew Merlin was biting his lip and shifting from foot to foot. "I had to get to you. Gaius said you were dying. I didn't know – I had to make sure you were all right."

The words reminded Arthur so desperately of how he'd been feeling just moments ago that it took him far longer than it should have to piece Merlin's sorry excuse for an explanation together. "You knocked my men unconscious."

Oh, and Arthur knew very well from that pregnant pause just how deeper those teeth were digging into that bottom lip. "I'm sorry?"

He waved again, this time pleased with the almost-acceptable results. "Come here."

He heard the sound of Merlin's reluctant shuffling, and then he saw Merlin's face staring down from above him. He reached up – and yes, he was finally gaining back the ability to  _move_  – and grabbed the back of Merlin's head. He yanked Merlin down and kissed him. It was awkward; Arthur was lying completely horizontal on the table. It was clumsy, as Merlin, expecting some sort of smack or hit, most probably, flailed like an angry goose for a good ten seconds, forcing their lips out of alignment at first and slapping Arthur once in the stomach. It was boring, because while Merlin's mouth opened, it was to stutter and make ridiculous noises from the back of his throat. But Arthur held fast, determined, and Merlin finally settled enough that their lips entwined, and Arthur didn't give a shit about the rest.

"Did they see you?" he asked finally, because that was important.

"Considering I used it on them while standing right in front of them, yes. Probably."

Merlin didn't seem half as concerned as Arthur thought he should be. In fact, when Arthur pulled Merlin back a little bit, there was a small smile on Merlin's face. He nearly yelled at the idiot before he realized there were also small tears in Merlin's eyes. He was just happy Arthur was safe. Just as, Arthur found, he was happy to see Merlin safe. But unlike Merlin, Arthur's happiness would last only a few moments longer. "You'll be killed."

Merlin shrugged. "I was already banished, and I came back. Isn't that enough for an execution?"

But Arthur could see how Merlin's hands trembled. Even though his entire body ached, he forced himself to sit up.

It was worse at the entrance of the rooms. Two more guards, including Leopold, lay outside. And Arthur thought he saw blood for a moment, until he realized the liquid on the ground was clear and coming from a bucket. He vaguely recalled Gaius ordering someone to fetch such things.

"Merlin," he said lowly, "You need to get out of here."

But even as he said it, he knew it was too late. He could hear stomping feet, and if this was anything to go by, Merlin had gained entrance to the castle in a similar fashion. Arthur's heart ached, tore, ravaged itself in his chest. "You must go," he said. "To Ealdor. I'll find you."

But Merlin was already shaking his head. "I can't go, Arthur. Look what happens whenever I'm not around. I have to stay with you."

"You won't be able to if you're dead!" Arthur hissed. The footsteps were louder, and shouts were beginning to bounce down the halls. "I will find you. I think I know of a way to get you back in the castle, but you need to leave, at least for now!"

Merlin's eyes widened. His mouth opened, most likely to ask  _how_  or  _what_  or some other inane question, but even he seemed to realize that his time was running precariously short. He turned a quick, uneasy gaze behind him, and somehow Arthur was grateful for it. It meant Merlin really didn't have a death wish, no matter how much he acted otherwise. Then he turned to Arthur and nodded. "Don't take any risks, and keep your guards with you. Make sure someone checks your rooms before you enter."

"Yes,  _Mer_ lin, I've had assassins after me before."

Merlin gave him a frankly affronting look that said, 'and you're still alive?' Arthur glared at him. Thankfully, Merlin let it go and turned to leave.

His father and two guards stomped up to the door before Merlin could take more than a single step. Arthur's heart rammed itself into his throat. "Father–"

But Uther was already seeing red. "Sorcerer! Seize him!"

"No!" Arthur said, getting to his feet. Merlin just stood like a startled deer. Arthur's legs wobbled as he tried to stand on them. The guards moved to take Merlin, their swords drawn.

"He has enchanted the prince," Uther said, and Arthur snarled. Merlin jumped. The guards held their swords out as if to cleave Merlin in two.

"He hasn't," Arthur said, snapping at his men. "Father, see sense!"

"He is a  _sorcerer!"_  Uther turned his glare on Arthur, and for perhaps the first time, Arthur saw the true level of hatred in Uther's gaze. It nearly looked like madness. Somehow it reminded Arthur of the time he'd gone after his father, furious and hurting for the hypocrisy of using magic, only to spurn it and all magic-users when the spell he'd demanded had taken his wife from him. He remembered being mad with fury and grief, and perhaps that was the reason he thought of it. But a sinking feeling settled in his gut, and he thought perhaps that wasn't at all the case.

After all, it had been Merlin – Merlin, the one with magic himself, the one who'd said he would do  _anything_  for Arthur – who had told him Morgause had been trying to trick him.

Merlin just stood there. As if one single movement would get his appendages rearranged. Arthur forced himself forward. The guards shifted as Arthur grabbed Merlin's arm. Instinctively, it seemed, Merlin moved to take Arthur's weight. The guards raised their swords then, and Arthur finally shoved Merlin back. He winced when he heard Merlin stumble and crash to the floor, but he took his place in front of Merlin nevertheless. "I will not allow this, father! I told you! He is my consort, magic or no."

"Arthur," Uther snapped, his voice little more than a growl. He nodded to his knights to continue, and they moved past him, their gazes carefully kept from his own, and they dragged Merlin away. Merlin met his eyes for half a second, and the stupid fool actually shook his head as if telling Arthur to silence himself. Arthur raised his chin. He was the prince. Merlin couldn't tell him what to do. "You are clearly under the sorcerer's spell."

"I'm not!"

"The very fact that you speak such treason is evidence of your enchantment!"

Merlin shook his head wildly as he was pulled from the room, and Arthur was reminded viscerally of the last time Merlin must have been dragged away. Arthur snarled and wished desperately for his sword, wherever he'd dropped it. "He used said magic to save my life! Such an action demands amnesty for such a crime!"  _Crime_. Arthur felt the word like bile on his tongue. "Unless you believe my life worth nothing?"

But Uther just shook his head. "Don't you see? He saved you because you are an investment. You are nothing more to him."

Even though he still felt like his legs might give out, he stomped up to his father. "No. One does not throw one's own life away for an 'investment.' One does not lay one's head forward for my sword for an 'investment,' father."

"He knew you wouldn't do it."

"Really? So he let you bury him?"

"And you went to rescue him!" Uther straightened his posture as if just realizing he was getting into a shouting match with his son. "That  _boy_  has seduced and bewitched you, and if I must, I will lock you in the dungeons until his execution is completed."

Arthur nearly engaged his father in battle. "You will not! Merlin just came back to save my life. After  _you_  banished him, alone at night in a noble carriage, waiting for him to be attacked!"

"That has nothing to do with this! That boy was evil,  _is_  evil, and I am purging him from this castle! And you, Arthur, will do well to stay clear of this. I will have my men keep you under surveillance, and if you do  _anything_  untoward, you will find yourself in chains."

And with that, his father turned and left the room.

Arthur took one useless step after him, one step in which he considered grabbing his father, punching him, shoving him. Threatening him. And then he realized, no, that wasn't the way to do it. Any show of force or fury would only exacerbate his father's opinion that he really had been lost to some sort of spell. He covered his mouth with his hand and thought.

He heard a small noise behind him and whipped around. Gaius stood in the corner of the room, his eyes wide, his skin pale as alabaster. He looked ready to fall. Arthur quickly went to his side and helped him onto his bench, careful of the broken vials. "Sire," Gaius said, but his voice shook so violently he couldn't continue.

"I'll save him," Arthur said, gripping Gaius' shoulder tight. "You have my word."

Gaius gave him one long look. Then he nodded. "Yes, sire." When Arthur stood, however, he made a loud grunt of a noise, and Arthur turned back. "You know Merlin would never...?"

Arthur nodded briskly. "Yes, I know. The idiot's in love with me."

Gaius' lips trembled. "Yes. Yes, he is."

Another nod, and Arthur raced to the door. He didn't know quite how he was going to do it, but he would. It was only that determination that kept him from punching the guards waiting outside the room as they made to follow right behind him.

* * *

Merlin was sent to the dungeons to await the pyre's preparation. Arthur knew this because Gwen ran up, tears streaming down her face, and told him. She clung to his shirt and tried in vain to hold back her sobs as she told him how, without a murmur of protest, he was yanked and pulled and, once, thrown down the last few steps of the castle stairs, until finally he was dragged wincing down to the cells. She told him how the guards heralded him 'sorcerer' and 'traitor,' and how one enterprising servant had spat on him.

Though it meant nothing at the moment, Arthur demanded the servant's name. The woman would be thrown out before the day was through.

Of course, the important part, saving Merlin – on that, he was useless. The guards following him like lost puppies prevented him from doing anything but roam his halls in frustrated impotence, slamming his fists against the walls as he passed and glaring at anyone who came too close, save Gwen and, a few hours after she left, as the sun broke free of the horizon, by a woozy, bleeding Gwaine. Arthur quickly took the man to his room and locked the door on the armored ducklings.

Gwaine, hand still pressed against his head, though it seemed the bleeding had finally stopped a little bit ago, told Arthur everything he could. It wasn't much. Coming across the carriage, only to be beset by bandits the instant he reached Merlin – who had somehow freed himself, Gwaine told him.  _With magic_ , Arthur supplied silently, wanting to curse. And then they'd fought, and Merlin had "gotten lucky," according to Gwaine; a man Gwaine had missed in the darkness had managed to trip and knock himself unconscious.  _With the help of magic_ , he thought, this time grateful. And then – then a woman had arrived, and Gwaine had been knocked unconscious. When he'd awoken, it had been to find Merlin and a horse gone. "And where else would that little guy go than to you?" Gwaine asked.

And then when Gwaine looked around, obviously about to ask where Merlin was, Arthur could say only, "my father." And then Gwaine had not been in the mood to talk.

Arthur looked out uselessly from his window. Most of the time being there cleared his head, reminded him of what he was working for, but now... everything was blurry. He couldn't find even the most ridiculous of plans to start with. Any attempt to break Merlin out would fail; Gwaine and him both would be watched carefully; they wouldn't get away with sending Gwaine out for something like they had when Merlin had been exiled. Any attempt to placate or persuade his father would fail; the man never gave leeway for magic. He couldn't order others to do as he commanded; even without his father's orders, his men once again thought he was mad. Enchanted. He covered his mouth and leaned against the sill. Gwaine continued pacing behind him; Arthur let him, because the man's restlessness actually seemed to help dull his own.

He needed to think of something, and quickly. If he didn't, Merlin would die.

Gods. He took a ragged breath and forced himself to  _think_. Yes, he had a potential answer to the problem of Uther sending Merlin off, but the magic? Uther wouldn't care if he and Merlin were literally joined at the hip; he would still have Merlin killed. There was nothing to save him. Nothing he could think of.

Someone knocked on his door, and almost he ordered them to go the hell away. But it might have been Gwen, or a guard coming with the news to – for – he strode over to the door and yanked it open. His heart plummeted through the floor when he saw Kay. Wordlessly he shook his head.

"Sire. You have visitors."

Arthur gazed immediately around the hall, but he couldn't see anyone. Anyone save the guards, at least.

"I told them to wait downstairs." Kay's gaze dipped to the guards for a short moment before returning to Arthur. "Just in case you needed discretion?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, of course. The delegates from the nearby villages were supposed to give me their reports on their crops." He let himself look as if taking care of such business was the very last thing he wished to attend to. Gwaine, unwittingly helping him along, was giving him a disbelieving, almost furious look. "Please escort them up."

But who the hell was it? And could they be used somehow to help him get to Merlin? If nothing else, he could use their presences. Knock them unconscious if he had to, and try to escape out the window while his leeches in the hallway presumed a long meeting in his room.

As Kay left, Arthur gave his father's men – not his men, no, not these, at least – a sardonic look. "Do try to at least not make it apparent that you've placed your prince under house arrest."

He closed the door just as Gwaine started shrieking at him like a banshee. "You're going to listen to vegetable reports when Merlin's life is in danger?! Are you a completely heartless sod? Your  _consort_  is awaiting execution!"

Arthur managed, by some strange strength of will, to not flinch, wince, or double over in some dramatic agony. He merely closed his eyes for a few moments, took a deep breath, and said, "I have no such meeting occurring for another three weeks."

Gwaine, thank everything, shut up.

Arthur raked his hands through his hair. "Whoever it is, we need them to stay here. I need to get to Merlin." He thought that over for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, it has to be me. The guards will at least hesitate if they see me. They won't with you." Gods, what should he do? Normally, if he was in a relationship with someone remotely sane, he would be breaking the person loose and sending them the hell out of Camelot, and to hell with his wants. But Merlin wouldn't go. Look at him! In prison because he'd refused to leave Arthur's life to chance. Despite having been banished, despite being on thin ice as it was, he returned anyway. Any attempt to send him away would only leave Merlin free to roam like a fool, get caught by a patrol, run stupidly into the castle again, try to hide out in the forest around Camelot like some lunatic hermit... no, trying to get rid of him would never work.

Arthur only had the one chance, and he needed to hope it would stick even through Uther's mad rampage against magic. And if it didn't? What then? And if it  _did?_  What  _then?_

No. One step at a time. Free Merlin. Take him away from all this. No matter what, people were going to accuse Arthur of having lost his senses. No matter what, his people might think he'd lost himself to Merlin's magic. They may no longer trust him, or Merlin, or believe in the kingdom.

As much as Arthur loved Merlin, he couldn't let that happen. Because if it did, then his people would turn from him. His country could become divided – there might even be civil war. Camelot's enemies would take the chance to strike. And no matter what Merlin said about fate or destiny, Camelot would fall, and it would be Arthur's fault.

No. He wouldn't be able to go with Merlin to try to resolve this, at least not immediately. He would just have to send Merlin out on his way alone for a little bit. He could handle himself, right? Even though he was a bumbling idiot of a manservant, he had still managed to keep Morgause away long enough to stab her. Perhaps Arthur had seen the worst first? (Which didn't make him feel relieved at all, that there could be a worst such as that.) All right. First things first. He had to somehow force Merlin to see it his way. For once, he would get his recalcitrant manservant to do as he said.

Ugh. He didn't even believe himself.

He straightened his shoulders as muted talking rose from behind his chamber doors. A prince didn't need to believe himself. He only needed to make others believe.

The door opened, and Arthur nearly gave himself away in front of the waiting guards as Kay led Lancelot and another man inside. The second man nearly had to duck and shift sideways to get through the damn door. Arthur nodded his head. "Glad you could join us," he said, ignoring the suspicious looks of the guards and the confused look twisting Lancelot's face. He waved the man and his friend inside, despite the fact that they already were, and motioned for them to close the door. This time he looked toward his babysitters and glared them a plain warning that they were not to be spied upon. One of the men at least paled before the door closed.

Arthur waved Lancelot over, sparing a short glance for his anything-but-short friend. "Keep your voices down," he said. Lancelot's brow drew lower still. "Merlin – Merlin's been arrested. He's awaiting execution."

While the large man seemed nothing more than confused and perhaps wary, Lancelot jerked back, paused. His eyes widened, then stayed wide. Too long to still be surprised.  _He knew_. It hit Arthur with a crash so deep he nearly lost his feet.

He turned to Gwaine. "While I inform them of what's happened, I need you to get all the information you can. Find and prepare a horse. Not Merlin's usual; they'll look for her. But a placid one." However Merlin acted, Arthur knew he still struggled sometimes with a recalcitrant steed. "Get provisions – food, blankets, drink. Medicine, if you can. Then check on Merlin. Count the guards, their positions."

Gwaine nodded to it all, and when Arthur finally stopped, terrified he'd managed to forget something, Gwaine saluted. "I'm on it." The man walked to the door, threw it open, and glared down at the men waiting outside. He slammed the door behind him. It was obnoxious, but it would match with the argument the guards must have heard between them.

Arthur turned on Lancelot. "He told you." It wasn't a question. It didn't even say  _what_ , or  _who_ , or  _when_. Even though Arthur's throat burned with those questions worse than when the spell had left him dying. And yet Lancelot's eyes shifted. Some shadow passed over them, and under them, and through them, and Arthur knew. And he hated.

"I found out," Lancelot admitted. And while the words blasted him back, they also burned back the fire within him.  _Found out_.

"You weren't told?"

And Lancelot shook his head. "No. I heard him. When I was fighting the griffon."

The griffon. A creature Arthur and his knights had thought Lancelot had slain. But of course, of course Merlin was involved. Just how many beasts had Arthur not really killed, either? It was enough to make a man feel impotent. But worse than that, perhaps, was that Lancelot, who had only known Merlin for such a short amount of time, had noticed something so intrinsic about him that Arthur had missed. Arthur, who hadn't even actually learned for himself, but had learned through his father's accusations and Merlin's deathbed admission. Who hadn't seen a trace of Merlin's magic until he'd blasted that dagger away in mid-air and brought fire from nothing; until he'd held that glowing orb in his hand.

The other man just kept watching the two of them parry their verbal sword strikes back and forth, his face twisting more and more into a rictus of lost befuddlement. Arthur finally turned to him. "Name?"

The man nodded and straightened his shoulders. "Percival, sire."

Arthur raised a brow, but nodded. He looked to Lancelot. "A friend?"

"A loyal one, Arthur. He's trustworthy."

Arthur accepted that. At the moment, he needed all the help he could get. "And your opinion on magic?"

Percival looked to Lancelot, then back to him. "Um... it's illegal?"

Arthur lifted his chin. "Yes. It is. And we're going to be breaking a sorcerer out of the dungeons as soon as we get you both up to speed."

This time it was Percival's eyes that widened.

He heard the pounding footsteps only seconds before the yelling. Arthur held up his hand and pointed to his new table. Lancelot quickly sat, blinking as he took in the new stains on the ceiling, but Percival just stared at Arthur a bit vacantly. Arthur ignored him and rushed to his door. When he yanked it open, he was faced with Gwaine shoving against multiple guards pushing against his chest. "Arthur! They're executing him now!"

Arthur reeled back.

Something screeched behind him, and then someone was by his side. "We'll go," Lancelot said.

Arthur jerked a nod. He tried to give them some instructions, even waved his hand as if to point or signal to something. But his mind was lost. "Go," he whispered. They left.

Merlin.

He raced to his window, heedless of the guards inevitably watching him. The curtains were pulled back; Arthur had just looked out that same window moments ago! And yet there he was, being dragged by his father to the dais. At least Merlin was digging in his heels. Not that it did anything; as Arthur watched, the executioner came and took Merlin from Uther, pulling him forward with one arm. In his other hand was an axe, which the tall man hefted onto his shoulder as he yanked on Merlin's bound hands. No pyre, as Arthur had watched for. No nothing.

Uther was moving. Quick. Fast. Before Arthur could calm down and rally himself. Before Arthur could know and try to stop it.

Arthur had to do something.

There was still a horrible ruckus behind him, and he expected that Gwaine was fighting his – no, his father's – knights. But Arthur couldn't be bothered with something so trite and inane when Merlin was about to be killed right in front of him. No. Fighting his guards would waste time. But he was too high up to...

It was insane. Absolutely insane, and absolutely brilliant. He grabbed a chair as new as the table, turned to the window, and threw the thing out. Everyone, both just outside his room and down on the city street, looked at him. He leaned out the window. "Merlin!"

And even though Uther was standing right next to him, even in the hands of an executioner with an axe making his way up the dais steps, even with the quickly-gathering crowd watching with horrified glee – even with all that, Merlin looked up. And his mouth dropped. And even though Arthur couldn't hear him over the sudden shouting, his very distinctly saw Merlin scream his name.

He jumped.

Merlin screeched like a freaking girl, loud enough that even with the wind in his ears, he heard it. But then there it was; he'd only felt it once before, when Morgause's fire had been consuming him from the inside out, but it was cool and bright, like lazing in the breeze of a warm summer's day, and he recognized it as Merlin's magic. It cradled him, stopped him mid-fall. He heard something move, and then people shouting. Screaming. A number of gasps, mostly overshadowed by women's shrieks. Arthur stared out across the gap between his window and the courtyard as men ran over to him. Merlin was too far away for him to see his eyes, but from the look on Uther's face, it was apparent Merlin's eyes were glowing that bright, ostentatious gold.

And then Arthur heard men shouting below him, and suddenly he was falling again. Instead of hitting the ground, however, several men held up a large tarp as his weight pressed down into it. He hardly waited to stop falling before rolling, trying to get out. The men all around him shouted at him. "Enough! Shut up! Get me up. Now!"

And the men snapped to attention at his orders and  _moved_. Arthur looked back to Merlin, but he couldn't see the man's face anymore. The executioner had moved to Merlin's side. Arthur's heart seized in his throat.

Thank goodness, but he did not once think 'to hell with my country.' He did not once think 'I don't care about Camelot, just let Merlin live.' But he feared that might be because he couldn't think anything at all, save the continuous cry of  _no_. No. Not him. Not Merlin. Please.

Arthur shoved off the hands trying to check to see if he was all right and raced forward. He couldn't see everything very well, and the crowd was too damn loud for him to make out much of anything, save for his father's angry voice – and then he saw the executioner raise the axe. He managed one highly undignified scream.

And then the executioner paused mid-swing.

Arthur raced forward as the crowd shifted back, one giant collective gasp splitting the air between the front row of people and the dais. Arthur wedged himself within the no-man's land and looked up. "Merlin!"

Merlin looked at him, and though Arthur expected the axe to fall the moment he did – and flinched at it – Merlin's eyes continued glowing gold, and the executioner didn't move. Arthur stepped forward. "Don't," Merlin said. Arthur ignored him and climbed onto the dais.

"Arthur!" Uther said. Arthur hadn't even looked at him. He didn't think he should. His rage might flare up the instant he set eyes on his murderous, lying father. Instead he looked at Merlin. Merlin, who still knelt in front of his father, in front of his people. Awaiting execution.

If Arthur went to him, knelt beside him and touched him, his people would think he was subject to Merlin's whims. But he couldn't stay away. Merlin had done nothing to deserve any of this. And damn the idiot, but he seemed to see what Arthur was going through. And he smiled. "Go, Arthur. Go away. I can... I can make my own escape."

The words were low, but there was no mistaking what he was saying. He would honor his promise to live, and he would go. But Arthur shook his head, because he couldn't allow this injustice. Morgana had been right. Sometimes you had to do what was right and damn the consequences. "I'm not leaving." He looked at his father. "I'm not leaving, and I'm not letting you break your word, father."

"Arth – my prince," Merlin said, shifting his gaze to the crowd for a moment before hunching down, as if somehow doing so might make his voice softer. Arthur wanted to punch the idiot in the face. "I can handle this."

Except Merlin couldn't handle hanging socks up to dry, let alone getting himself out of such a mess. Arthur stood straight and faced his father like the prince he was. "Enough of this. I told you. This man saved my life. Such deserves amnesty."

Uther waved his guards forward, but for some reason, they hesitated. Arthur looked to Merlin, but he couldn't know if he was using his magic on the guards or not; his eyes still glowed from keeping the executioner in place. Carefully, ready for his father or the guards to retaliate, he stepped forward and yanked the axe from the man's hands. He set it down beside himself. He heard Merlin sigh, and then the executioner stumbled forward, nearly pitching himself on top of Arthur. Arthur shoved him away, furious, at the moment, with the man's very existence.

"I will never allow a sorcerer to walk free," Uther said, and he glared at the executioner. The man nearly stumbled over his own feet.

"Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you promised to do no harm to him," Arthur said, proclaiming the words loudly enough for the entire kingdom to hear. Merlin actually winced at it. Uther's skin turned blood red. Stained. "You remember that oath you made, father? Or perhaps you forgot, also, how I named Merlin to be my consort. Do you know what a consort is, father? It's a spouse to royalty." Arthur let the words hang for a moment, and Merlin, his eyes once again blue as the morning sky, stared at him with that same wide-eyed look of awe that made Arthur feel ten feet tall and humbled all at once. "That makes him prince consort. We may have yet to have the church officiate, but naming him mine makes us as good as wed."

I will not allow this  _enchanter_ –"

"Say what you will, sire," Merlin said, cutting Uther off before Arthur could ruin himself in front of his people. Merlin looked up, faced Uther head on. Arthur saw his very shoulders shake as he did. "But I will never harm Arthur. Nor will I let him be harmed." He took a deep breath. It echoed through the courtyard, bounced off the faces of the people staring with slack jaws at this manservant-come-sorcerer. "Even by you, sire."

Uther's skin changed from Pendragon red to a rather plum-like purple. "I would never harm my son!"

While Merlin's deep breath had echoed, Uther's shook the ground like a dragon's roar. Yet Merlin faced it without flinching. "There are many ways to harm beyond physical."

Uther stepped forward. Arthur did, as well, ready to stop, to intervene. None of his father's guards came to stop him, and when Arthur chanced a glance, he found Kay, Lancelot, Percival, and even Leon, all holding the others back. It was for the best; Arthur being dragged off in front of all his people would be even worse than the disaster presenting itself right now. "You think I would ever do so?"

"You have," Merlin affirmed. "From the moment you decided Arthur did not know his own mind." And though Merlin seemed to quail slightly under Uther's fury, he still said, "I know I am just a servant, and also a man. I am prepared for that to be a hindrance to Arthur, and to sever any ties before it gets in the way of his destiny. But I made a promise to him. That I would live. That I would stay." Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur. "I didn't make him say those things. I didn't make him demand anything. He is my king. He commands me."

Arthur snarled. If Merlin continued, he might dig himself into a grave Arthur couldn't pull him out from – sorcery was bad enough without the man speaking down to his king. "Then I command you to shut up."

Merlin quirked a grin. And for the first time in human history, the idiot actually listened.

Arthur stepped forward again, until Merlin was safely hidden from his father's gaze by his own body. "You may not believe me. You may never believe me. Sometimes I can hardly believe myself." He kept his voice strong, loud, because if things were going to fall apart in his kingdom, it would be because of the truth. "But my feelings will not change. Not by distance nor by death. And if it were my mother kneeling there on that ground," he said, "you would feel the same."

"He is a sorcerer!"

"Yes," Arthur said, amazed he was no longer concerned. Why was he no longer concerned? "He is a sorcerer. I cannot deny it; I have seen it with my own two eyes. Felt it as he stopped my fall. But his magic has been used only to save me. To stop an evil woman's spell from killing me. To stop me plummeting to my death. To stop my heart from breaking." And he gestured to the executioner, explaining the last. "What king punishes a man for such loyalty?"

Because he's right, he realized. He's right, and he knows it. And acting on such a conviction need not be feared. "My husband has given his life for me."

The silence broke through every lip in the courtyard. For a few terrible seconds, the world went still, and Arthur found himself checking Merlin despite himself. But no, his eyes were blue.

And then the next instant, there was chaos.

People started screaming, raising their fists, surging forward to bridge the no-man's land gap. The knights finally moved, shoved through the walls of muscle made by Arthur's allies in order to keep the people back. This would have horrible ramifications for Camelot. What were the chances they wouldn't fall apart, be attacked?

But he'd done the right thing. Everything else would have to follow from that.

Uther looked livid. Horrified. A little strangled, as if he wanted to do something and found it  _just_  un-kinglike enough to warrant restraint. Arthur lifted his chin. "Just when are you going to learn that I have not been bewitched by this idiot? He doesn't even know how to keep his magic quiet long enough to let you die."

Somehow, through all of the shouting and shoving, some of his knights heard that. Kay gave Arthur one long, solid look before turning away. Arthur, too, had a lot of explaining to do. Guilt churned in his breast. But that, too, would have to be handled later.

The entire city seemed to be in an uproar, and Merlin quickly became surrounded. Not by the knights, who were busy fighting back the people, but by his friends – Gwaine, who surged out from the edge of the crowd; Lancelot, who bent down and hugged Merlin, strategically placing himself between Merlin and the knights as he did; Percival, whose giant bulk filled double the space as the rest; Kay, who stood with his sword half-lowered, prepared to fight but making it plain that he meant no harm to Arthur's betrothed; and Leon, strong, steady Leon, who had stood by his father's side without qualm for years but who now stood half beside Merlin and half beside Arthur, his eyes perpetually wide as if shocked he was actually doing what he was doing.

Arthur bent down to look at Merlin.

Merlin seemed perpetually surprised, too, and his glazed gaze caught on Arthur, but stalled for a few seconds before he actually seemed aware of Arthur's presence. His mouth opened and closed a few times. "You need to use your voice to make words," Arthur said. He tried for a grin.

Merlin, when Arthur tried to help him up, sagged brokenly against him. "I'm gonna die," he said, and looked out to Camelot's citizens – a mob. When Arthur tried once more to lift him, he found Merlin's legs unable to support him. So girly. But he supposed he could forgive Merlin this time, because Arthur's feet seemed about ready to fail him, too. Only the need to protect Merlin stopped him. "Arthur. Camelot. Your people." And Merlin turned to him, heedless once more of his own bloody safety. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't be here. You look..." His mouth opened. Closed. "Whipped. Enchanted. Your people aren't going to believe you aren't being controlled by me–"

"But I'm not, so I don't care." Merlin's jaw flapped open again, and Arthur took the chance to wrench Merlin onto his feet and start leading him away. Uther shouted at him, at his guards. At them all. Raged. Arthur's hands trembled. He'd never seen his father like this. He was out of control. And perhaps, Arthur thought, wondering at the same time if he wasn't just trying to shift the blame onto another, perhaps Camelot was merely reflecting its king.

If that was so, then Camelot was on the verge of collapse.

Uther shoved away the executioner – good, Arthur thought savagely – and stormed up to Arthur. Arthur waved the others on, hoping Gwaine had the good sense to get Merlin to the horse he'd hopefully thought to prepare, and faced his father, shielding Merlin from the man's rage. Uther stepped right into his space and glared down at him. "You will not do this to me. To Camelot," he said. "If there is anything of my son left within you, you will stand down."

"I am every inch Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot," Arthur said. And despite the madness of the people watching, they all quietened at the sound of his voice. "I am a knight, a prince, and a man. I uphold the honor of Camelot each and every day, and strive to do everything and anything I can for this kingdom and its future." His father might have been taller than him in height, but he held no fear as the man tried to tower over him. He'd faced tall opponents on the battlefield before. "But as of today, I am no longer certain that I am your son."

Uther snarled and snapped, but Arthur had become adept at tuning people out after years of boring council meetings, and he just blanked it all out and turned away. Merlin, when he got to his side, had eyes so wide they seemed ready to pop out of his skull.

And because he could – because he'd confessed his intentions to the whole of his kingdom – he bent down and kissed those open lips.

* * *

Gwaine had not, in fact, gotten a horse ready.

But that was fine, because they needed far more than one horse.

Leon still looked ready to rebel, or perhaps to throw his sword away and give up trying to choose sides, but he stayed with Arthur, and for that, Arthur was infinitely grateful. Percival didn't seem too concerned one way or the other, and Arthur wondered what the man had accompanied Lancelot for. Whatever the reason, he was glad not only for his help, but for the loyalty he showed Lancelot in not asking any questions or walking away when things got rough. The man was a true friend to someone who dearly deserved them.

Although he still wanted to grill Merlin as to exactly  _what_  had happened during the battle with the griffon.

Of course, Gwaine and Lancelot didn't seem to be warring with themselves at all; while Lancelot saddled the horses, Gwaine led them out, never leaving Merlin's side for long. It may have been a leftover habit from guarding Merlin for so long, but it seemed like Gwaine was on edge, angry, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. But the only looks he cast at Merlin were concerned, and worried, and Arthur realized Gwaine might think of Merlin as a little brother who needed protecting. After all, Gwaine had seen Merlin when he'd been his most vulnerable, on the brink of death. And, well, one couldn't be near Merlin for longer than a day without noticing how clumsy and useless and ridiculous he was, or how blindly loyal and kind, and of course that makes the perfect recipe for recognizing the insufferable man's need for protection. This day would most certainly have proven that.

"If any of you have a problem with Merlin's magic," Arthur said, making every single person stop on a dime, "you may leave. I will not hold it against you." He looked at Kay, who stood on the outskirts of the group, just at the edge of the stables, arms now crossed and blade sheathed, most likely because of the tension simmering under Gwaine's veins, ready to explode. "I know I hid this from all of you." He looked to Leon. "I am sorry. I realize this has broken the bond of trust between us." Neither of the men moved.

Then Gwaine, of course, ruined it all. "Damn straight you should have told me!" The man looked at Merlin, swaying stupidly on his feet like he couldn't quite believe any of this was actually happening. "No wonder you kept shoving me out of the room whenever anything magic came up! I want to know  _everything_." The man did not seem the slightest bit perturbed by the secret, and Arthur felt such green-fingered beasts squirm under his skin he wanted to strangle something. But Merlin looked up at the man with hope, and he couldn't help but be grateful once more. The easy acceptance was just what Merlin needed right then. Especially with the reticence of Leon and Kay. Lance just gave Merlin an encouraging smile when their eyes met, and Merlin managed his first small smile back. The green slime monsters attacked with a vengeance.

"I came to help," Percival said, breaking the silence. "Help Lancelot, and help his friend." Percival waved in Merlin's general direction, and the green slime monsters took a break long enough for Arthur to find himself once again in awe of Merlin's ability to gain loyalty for loyalty. "This doesn't change that."

Arthur outright smiled. "You are a true friend, then, Percival, and I thank you."

After Percival's announcement, Gwaine jumped in, as if refusing to be outdone. "I've traveled all over, including to countries where magic is perfectly legal. I've gotten in way more trouble with people  _without_  magic than those with. I don't give a rat's ass about something like that." And the man wrapped an arm around Merlin's shoulders. Merlin grinned again. His eyes had gone watery. He made a little sniffing noise as he thanked Gwaine under his breath.

 _Such_  a girl.

Lancelot said nothing. He didn't have to, Arthur supposed. Whatever he'd seen when he'd found out the first time, it was plain they would have had a talk about it. And whenever they had, they'd worked through it. Another cold touch of slimy hands down his back and gut, and he managed to let it go. It wasn't his fault that Merlin always gave himself away. Really, he should be amazed it had only happened twice. Before, of course, he'd managed to out himself in front of everyone. Granted, that was Arthur's doing, forcing him to either show himself or let Arthur plummet to his death, but he was about to be beheaded, anyway. By then, it had been a moot point.

It was Leon and Kay, however, whose voices truly mattered. Not only because Arthur wasn't one hundred percent certain how they would respond. Not just because they might respond harshly to Merlin, who almost certainly wouldn't be able to take it with any amount of aplomb, which would make Arthur cross and Gwaine potentially homicidal. Not even because they were Arthur's knights and he relied on them to have his back. It was because, first and foremost, they knew Arthur, and they knew Merlin, and they were Arthur's people, the people of Camelot. If these two who knew the two of them down to their thinnest marrow did not believe or accept them, then Arthur could never expect his people to do so. If they turned from Merlin, from Arthur, then Arthur would have no starting point. Nothing to work forward through. He would have no where to turn to make any of this any better.

And so he waited, his breath shallow, his nerves tight, his entire body writhing and reeling, to see just how his two knights, the only two to remain with him through all of this, would respond.

Leon was just shaking his head, over and over again, his gaze on the ground as if the dirt in front of the stable could somehow tell him how to respond without getting his own head chopped off. Kay remained silent.

Merlin cleared his throat. "This is my fault," he whispered. Gwaine started making noises, but Merlin ignored it, as usual. "Everything's gone wrong. You're supposed to be king." Merlin looked up at Arthur, and there were tears in the idiot's eyes. They fell. "You're supposed to rule over this kingdom, Arthur. You aren't supposed to do this."

"This kingdom is not being ruined, you idiot. Shut up." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as Merlin opened his mouth to respond, and thankfully, Merlin quieted. Twice in one day; the end was near. Well, that was good. An ending was needed. "It's like a deep wound, Merlin. And hopefully you've paid enough attention with Gaius to at least understand this. A wound bleeds. It gets infected. Untreated, it can turn gangrenous and need to be severed entirely. Our country has become infected, and gangrene has begun."

Merlin made a wretched sound. Arthur thought perhaps Leon did, too.

"I do not want this country lost. But at this point, treatment is difficult and painful, and should be done quickly." At Merlin's raised eyebrows, Arthur said, "I am a warrior,  _Mer_ lin. I do need to know these things on the battlefield. In any case, an attempt is made to use maggots to clean the wound. For Camelot, this might be considered a possible chance by bringing in sorcerers who mean no harm, or allowing small amounts of magic – like you, saving my life. This would be the most beneficial. The other cure is more severe."

 _Amputation._  No one said it, but certainly everyone thought it.

"You speak of treason," Kay said. "Murdering the king."

Merlin shook his head. "No! You can't, Arthur."

Arthur snapped at him. "I won't!" One of the stablehands peeked out from behind the stable. Arthur waved him away. "I don't have any desire to – why do you think I spoke of the other option? But the rest of the body rejects the maggots, is where I was going." He glared at Merlin. "It rejects getting better. That's what Camelot is doing right now. It's so used to this infection – the infection I myself had–" Merlin flinched here, and Arthur couldn't help but want to pull him in close. He was already held by Gwaine, though, so he had to make do without. "That it will take time for it to allow this change. But if the infected person refuses treatment..."

Gwaine frowned. "How can you get treatment to work on someone who doesn't want it?"

Merlin paled. "I can't take away his will, Arthur. It isn't right." He looked to the ground.

"Would you  _shut up_ , Merlin? I would never ask such a thing." Merlin just nodded, looking a bit relieved, and Arthur realized they'd never actually spoken about how Merlin's magic would be used. Merlin had handed it over without ever saying what he would and would not want to do. He basically had left his magic in Arthur's hands, for Arthur to decide what and when and how much. Arthur rubbed his jaw. He needed a shave. "You will never be asked to do something you aren't willing to do, Merlin. Don't worry about that."

And again, another relieved look. They really needed to discuss this in more detail.

How absurd. As it was, he needed to make sure Merlin stayed alive. They wouldn't be having another talk for quite a long while. "Listen to me, Merlin." He waited until those bright blue eyes were on him again. "You have to leave." Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "No! Shut up and listen, for once in your life." A third time. It almost didn't seem real. "You have to leave for now. I have to work to rebuild Camelot. I will be fighting with my father every step of the way, and the people need to see me fighting against him  _alone_. Without you, without my knights. They have to see what I'm doing. I must be the doctor, do you understand? But Camelot's people are strong. They can survive until I manage to start treatment."

Merlin nodded. "But what about you?" he asked.

"I'll be protected," he said. "Morgause may have jumped in to attack me, but she failed, and she'll know better than to try the same tactic twice. We'll be ready for her if she does. Which means we'll have some time, at the very least. I want you to go back to Ealdor and wait for me."

Merlin's mouth did that stupid fish thing. Arthur tried to ignore how much it made him want to kiss the fool again. "I'll come looking for you, and when I do, I'll make sure our engagement is a bit more official." More carp mouth. A weird little squeaky noise. The man couldn't get more girly if he tried. "But until then, you'll have to wait. Kay and Leon will be with me. Percival as well, since my father doesn't know him enough to hold a grudge." Arthur waited on that one until Percival nodded in acceptance; after all, the man had come to help Merlin, not Arthur. "I need you to stay with Gwaine and Lancelot, however, all right? Stay with them so that Morgause can't get to you, either."

Merlin nodded. It looked more like he was just moving his head thoughtlessly, but Arthur took it. "Gwaine stays," Merlin whispered.

"No," Gwaine said, pulling away to look at Merlin as if he was mad. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"I need you with Arthur." Merlin looked up at him. "You're good with people. You can help."

Gwaine opened his mouth to protest again.

"Please."

And as usual, Merlin's plea settled the matter. "Good, then." Even though he thought Gwaine might be more a hindrance than a help. It burned to leave Merlin with only one ally. But if it would make him leave without a fuss, Arthur would take it. "And wait just inside the forest for a few moments. I'll have Gwen join you." He gave Merlin a pointed look. "Be sure to inform everyone of the changes."

Merlin tried to say something. It came out more like a stuttered grunt.

"Go. I'll take care of things here and meet up with you later." He strode to Merlin's side, his proximity finally forcing Gwaine off Merlin entirely. The man went to check the saddles. Arthur grabbed the back of Merlin's head. "Don't die."

Merlin tried on a grin, and it was tremulous and shy and absolutely brilliant. Nearly blinding. "I won't. You either, prince prat."

Someone snorted. Arthur didn't check who. "I'm too important to kill."

Merlin's smile wobbled for a bit. Arthur had no idea what was going through that idiot's head, but he shook it out nonetheless. When Merlin's eyes cleared, Arthur bent down and kissed him again.

It was ridiculous. He'd told himself he wouldn't be the kind of prince who put a love before his kingdom. He'd told himself that he would never do just what he was doing, because it would leave Camelot weak. He'd thought this would be the worst thing to ever happen to Camelot.

He curled his hand into Merlin's hair, tilted his head slightly, and dove deeper. Merlin only tasted of himself, proof that he hadn't eaten anything for a while. The idiot. But Arthur licked at it nonetheless, because even though he wanted to smack Merlin whenever he found the fool skipping meals, he also liked this particular taste the best. And seeing as he was about to have many lonely, miserable nights of yanking off to look forward to, he would take it all until Merlin tasted of nothing but Arthur.

When he was finally done, Merlin's eyes were glazed and his thinner breeches didn't disguise the level of his interest. Arthur smirked. "I'll see you soon."

Merlin nodded. "I'll get stronger," he promised. "And I'll expect word from you every couple of weeks. If I haven't gotten anything, I'll assume the worst."

And come running back to Camelot, heedless of his own safety. Arthur nodded, his face serious. "I'll keep in touch."

Merlin nodded again. He still didn't move. Finally Lancelot came and touched his shoulders, gently steering him away. Merlin, Girl Mode in full swing, kept his eyes on Arthur the whole time, even as he was led to one of the horses.

As Gwaine grabbed Merlin's and Lancelot's horses and helped Lancelot lead Merlin away, Kay finally stood from the edge of the stable and came to stand before Arthur. Arthur couldn't ever be prepared for what Kay may say, but he pretended to be, nonetheless.

Kay's lips thinned. "I will stand by you," Kay said. Arthur nearly collapsed. He breathed a silent breath out. "I have seen this same infection," Kay said, his words slow, measured. Leon stared at the man. "I do not believe Merlin is dangerous to you, or to Camelot."

He disagreed with what Uther was doing. He believed Merlin was loyal to Camelot and the crown. Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Kay." Kay nodded and stepped away again, this time watching to make sure none of the other guards came from the still-raucous courtyard toward the castle.

Arthur made sure not to look at Leon, thus saving him from the pressure of answering right then. At that moment, just having his help was enough.

Merlin rode out from the stable then and headed toward the side of the castle, ready to follow the wall through the back streets and out of Camelot. Arthur found himself acting a bit girly, as well, watching Merlin leaving, Gwaine and Lancelot heading out, as well. Arthur could only suppose Gwaine meant to guard Merlin as long as possible. The horses nickered and shook their heads, almost as if recognizing the fact that they left for a long travel, almost certainly prepared for battle, taking in the tension of their riders. Good, Arthur thought. They would be that little bit more protected.

Leon cleared his throat, pulling Arthur's attention away from the retreating figures. "Anyone who knows Merlin could never question his loyalty to you. Especially after today." At Arthur's furrowed brow, he said, "he tried to get you to leave him alone. He tried to order you away in order to protect your place in Camelot, while he attempted to escape on his own. It would make him the monster, Arthur, and you the victim."

Arthur hadn't quite seen the other side of it. He'd known Merlin was trying to protect him, but he hadn't seen what it would do to Merlin. Merlin would have become the evil sorcerer escaping from the arms of the law. Magic would be vilified. Merlin would be an outcast. And Arthur would still be seated comfortably on his throne, nothing lost. Nothing gained.

Arthur sucked in a breath and thanked himself for not being stupid.

Leon looked a bit like a man torn, but he stood straight as he spoke. "I have seen Merlin stand by you as you faced bandits, monsters, and sorcerers. He has saved your life. He may have influenced you, sire, but I believe it to be for the better. And if you say you are still you, then I must believe you." Leon knelt to the ground. "I vowed to fight beside you many years ago. I gave you my sword then. I give you my sword now."

Arthur nodded, his throat horribly tight. "Thank you, Leon."

Leon nodded. Then hesitated. "If I may...?"

Such normalcy in the midst of madness nearly made Arthur laugh. It would not have been a balanced laugh. "Speak your mind, Leon."

The man hesitated. Cleared his throat. "Sire. I... what are our advantages?"

Arthur grinned at the military reference. He nodded out past the walls of the castle, past the stables and the castle grounds, out toward the roaring feud of citizens versus guards. "Them." Leon's brows rose. "Listen to them, Leon. Not one has demanded Merlin's death. They want answers. Justice. They heard what I said. They are no longer willing to believe I am enchanted. I did, after all, refuse to stand down at Merlin's behest." Arthur grinned. "And Merlin actually managed to keep his mouth shut for a minute or two when I ordered him. It certainly seemed like he was under  _my_  authority, not the other way around." One more random gesture, this time trying to encompass more than the crowd, even though none of them could be seen through the stable walls. "Our king has shown himself unwilling to consider the circumstances of Merlin's outing. The people aren't pleased with that."

"Or perhaps because they care for their prince?" Kay said.

Arthur tilted his head, ignoring the fluttering in his chest from such praise. "They want to know the full story. And if they hear it and are displeased with our king's decision, there will be riots. Boycotts. People will refuse to work, to trade. Camelot will find itself without food or cloth or labor. And when we're vulnerable, it's almost certain we'll be attacked. Before that happens, father – the king – will have to negotiate with his people. I will not allow him to do it without giving Merlin and myself adequate representation."

Kay frowned. "It's almost certain that Merlin would have to attend."

Arthur nodded. "And it's our job to make sure his return isn't to a crucifixion."

Leon nodded. Mission parameters. And, thankfully, an attempt to work  _with_  the king, not against him. As if they were going to salvage Camelot and not change its very foundations.

But the foundations needed to be changed in  _order_  to save Camelot, and Arthur would make sure it happened. It was, apparently, he thought with a small smile, his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SO sorry for the wait, everyone. The only good news I can give is that, while I have been dealing with Comcast (those blighters; give me the Internet I'm paying you for), I've been able to get started on the next part of this series. So no, it didn't actually take me this long to write this.


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